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Cleaning is so therapeutic … and messy!

Over the past months I have been cleaning and purging all through the house. I have gone through a storage closet, through the garage, through all the children videos and DVDs, through a hall closet, a bedroom closet. Each time I begin cleaning sneezing soon begins to happen. The amounts of dust is directly related to the amount of time since I last cleaned that area.

When I clean I am thorough! I take everything off the shelves and out of the spaces, and I go through every container, every item, every box. I often separate items into one of three piles:

keep
give away
throw away

Usually I am shocked at what I find. I find treasures that I forgot about, ones that bring such sweet memories back. I find other things I had forgotten about that I am not so thrilled to see again, or surprised that I had kept them in the first place. There are things that still fit perfectly, and other things that I cannot imagine how I ever squeezed into.

And so, I organize, I get rid of and I dust.

When it is all done I am usually a dusty mess! It takes a significant amount of time and effort to really clean a space. I feel such relief, such pride that my efforts have paid off in such a visually rewarding way, when I stand back and admire my work.

I am sure we all have similar boxes on shelves … and I am sure that not all of them are physical boxes.

As we grow and change we take fragments of our life, and pack them into boxes, which we then set upon shelves, to do nothing more but gather dust. Sometimes the things in those boxes are so painful, and bring back such heart wrenching memories that we allow the dust to settle on them for years so as to avoid having to face them again. Sometimes the things in those boxes topple into our lives unannounced and unexpected, jolted from the safety of their cardboard homes up on that out of reach shelf, and they surprise us with how much we do remember, but had pushed away so long ago.

When those most dusty of all the boxes in our lives get forced open and their contents strewn throughout our present life, we realize that it is impossible to pack them away forever. We realize that the things we want to stay in the past are actually attached to us as we walk through each day. They are the silent, invisible yet powerful forces that guide us in our decision-making. They guide us in whether we:

repeat the past
run from the past or
learn from the past

We think that we have put the boxes so high, and closed the door shut tight on the realities of the foundations of our lives, but they were never packed away, we have just been living like the ostrich who hides his head in the sand to escape the realities of his life. And like that ostrich, our heads will one day need to come up for air, and face the realities of our lives that we have been hiding from.

Each of us will, one day, need or be forced to take the dustiest boxes down from the shelf, and dare to look inside, resolving that no matter how much time and effort it takes, we will clean up the contents. We will need to decide:

what to keep
what to give away
what to throw away

Cleaning is so therapeutic …. and messy.

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It was a miracle! It was a weekend AND it was sunny and beautiful!

With hubby and all three of our kids gone, and with our two from China opting for retail therapy, the beast and I were free to do whatever we desired on that gorgeous day. So we chose a brisk walk on the trail.

People were out in droves. There were the young teenage couples who couldn’t keep their tonsils eyes off each other, and the older couples who walked arm in arm for both physical and emotional support. There were the single walkers, with or without a beast, briskly marching along, and the families with little ones, walking at a snails pace to take in every bit of wonder around them.

I am never really sure of the real reason that beast loves to go for walks. Oh, she loves the actual walk, but deep down the thing I think she likes most is the people we meet. There is nothing like a comment like, “oh what a pretty dog” to make her ears soar, and then she will prance down the path … head swelling bigger by the moment! If the passing compliment is not enough to excite her, there is also the adoring “puppy!” from a small child! Often we will stop, and allow her adoring little admirer touch and see her up close. If there is a child’s cry or screech within earshot of our beast, I am at risk of shoulder dislocation! She immediately wants to fly into action in the direction of the cry.

For me the walks encompass so much more than just the exercise, which is beneficial, of course. It is the opportunity to be still (I rarely ‘plug in’ on my walks, but I have been known to stop and quickly email a blog post idea to myself) mentally. It allows all of the cells in my body to inhale fresh, oxygen-rich air, that can clear my mind like nothing else. I am enabled by the combination of fresh air, beauty of creation, and physical activity to become more creative, and despite that fact that I have walked this path frequently, these walks “still take my breath away and offers so much scope for imagination!” (Anne of Green Gables)

What a gift the exercise, the fresh air, the sun shining brightly in the sky were to the beasty and I … cheaper and more effective than any other therapy!

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As I write this post hubby and our son are off on a two day trip to watch the Apple Cup (the trophy given to the university football team in the state of Washington – Cougars or Huskies). It will be male bonding at it’s best … football, cheap hotels, road trip, and the over-ingestion of flatulence-causing foods … I am so glad that I am not invited!

This trip is part of a plan that hubby and I adopted many years ago, when our kids were much younger. It all started one day as I was listening to a radio program that discussed the concept of a mother-daughter or father-son time away to discuss the years to come, and to provide opportunity to have ‘the talk’ in a less stressful, more relaxed environment. There were materials available, called Passport2Purity that provided a schedule, suggestions of what to do with your son/daughter, as well as audio and visual materials to guide discussions.

For me, the materials provided a springboard for conversations. Some of the illustrations used have been forever etched into the minds of my daughters and I simply because they were so … corny. That said, if you can use them as a guide their benefit will outweigh some of the uniqueness of their presentation (which provides shared humor, so all is good).

The structure of the program provides time for ‘learning’ but also has a strong focus on having fun together as well.

With our older daughter, I took her to Seattle for shopping.

With our second daughter, it was Disneyland.

With our daughters I was able to open the lines of communication broadly in areas such as money and time (stewardship), substance abuses and sexual experimentation (self respect), relationships (honoring one another) and future planning (using their gifts and passions with purpose), and we were able to have these important conversations before they became real issues in their lives. That premature timing, I feel, is key. Rather than waiting until your child is in a stressful, peer pressure filled situation, they can think about and even plan their decision making before it is an issue.

With both girls the trip home was the icing on the cake, with both saying over and over, “thanks for taking me away, Mom.”

Then, once back home, I got to give them a beautiful box full of letters from important people (mostly females, other than their dad) in their lives. They are the people who have been cheering them on for a year, or all of their lives. They are from women who vary in age from about ten (one is a drawing) to seventy. They are from women who share blood … or not, share faith … or not, share location … or not. These boxes of letters hold words of encouragement, words of hope, words of love to read, and re-read again as the tough stuff of the teen years comes their way. These boxes rarely gather dust, as they are places of refuge, of safely of remembering. These letters are the gifts that keep on giving.

And now it is the turn of father and son. Neither one of them knows what a great weekend they are both in for!

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This coming Friday is Black Friday.

For those of us who are not familiar with this annual, largely American (although spreading all over North America) tradition of Black Friday, it is the Friday following American thanksgiving, which signifies the start of the holiday shopping season. Retailers have traditionally opened their doors earlier than normal, and had specials to attract shoppers to set their alarm clocks for ungodly hours.

I admit, I have never gone shopping on Black Friday, although I have considered it a time or two, but the memories of the news stories of years past has always kept me safe at home.

I was recently speaking with an employee of a large department store about this infamous day. She is a woman working a low paying, thankless job, in order to pay her bills and support her

family. She was a delightful woman, who would appear to work hard, and treat other people well. As we talked it was obvious that she was certainly not excited by the idea that she would need to return to work, on her holiday planned with family, hours earlier than one year ago. For she, and many like her, the day set aside for giving thanks will instead be spent serving many people who walk with an air of expectation and entitlement.

Then she told me a story from the year before. An older woman was waiting patiently in line for a store employee to open up an electronics wall. When the door opened, the crowd surged forward, like starving dogs before a dead carcass, hoping to find a morsel of meat left on the bones. The older lady fell to her knees, and the crowd around her was so ravenous for whatever lifeless thing they were pursuing that they did not even notice her fall. Thankfully, a pair of store staff did notice, and were able to lock up the wall and open the eyes of the crowd to the lady who had fallen.

The comment of the store employee has stuck with me, “people are becoming like animals! They did not care or even notice this poor woman … they could have trampled her to death!”

Indeed, our human race is losing the breath of life that was given to us at the beginning of time, the breath of life that we should be so thankful for. It makes me ask, as was asked by God, in the middle of a valley full of very dry bones, in Ezekiel 37, “son of man, can these bones live?”” I too would respond, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.”

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Fog

The recent time change has brought fog into most of my mornings. Oh, it has been there for weeks before, but I was always oblivious to it, as it was hidden in the early morning darkness.

Now, as the clock moves from 6:30-7:00, as light is pushing away the darkness of night, fog draws a creative, and eerie, view from my window. The trees seem more defined20121115-162845.jpg, and yet less so, depending on how far into the fog they stand. The fog obstructs my view, and yet brings to attention that which is nearest to me. It makes me want to fill my coffee mug yet again, and turn my seat to the window and just stare … stare into the fading, stare into the emerging forms in front of me. It is wet to walk in, dampening everything it touches, without … the feeling of being touched. Yet it is warm to the eyes, it completes, it blankets all around it with it’s arms of total inclusion.

Fog both scares me and puts me at ease at the same time. It is mysterious and confusing and beautiful and inviting all at the same time. It is my morning conundrum.

As I emerge from my home, as the clock is nearer to eight than to seven, fog’s background is no longer darkness, but light. The sun seems to be pushing so hard to push through, to burn through the tiny droplets of precipitation. And as I life my eyes, drawn upward by the magnetic force of the light, I see that the light of the morning sun is winning in places, pushing the fog away, like pushing away a warm morning blanket, to show me the blue waiting to flood the skies, and the brilliance of it’s shine.

Later yet, as I drive in the glorious sun, the blue of the sky creating smiles just from it’s presence, I am moving towards a hill where I will enter a lower elevation, and, once again, the fog is present. It lies in the valley like a cottony blanket, or bridge, but this bridge will allow no vehicle to cross … the only way is through the fog. And my heart beats with excitement and anticipation, as I lower into it’s mysterious abyss.

“You do not know what tomorrow will bring.
What is your life?
For you are a mist
that appears for a little time
and then vanishes.”
James 4:14

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In recent weeks seismic activity of the west coast of North America has once again been in the news. And, every time this happens I think the same thing, ‘I really need to put together an emergency kit, in case THE BIG ONE hits.’

I’ve only been thinking about this since we moved here to the Pacific Coast … over sixteen years ago! It is just that, well, it is like buying life insurance … it is a good, wise and responsible thing to do, but acknowledging that it is something that I might just need is so very depressing.

I remember my first west coast earthquake. It was in the late 1990’s. It was early morning, hubby was preparing for work, our eldest was watching The Big Comfy Couch on TV, and our youngest was an infant in her bed. When the Earth started to shake I was … in the loo, and my first thoughts were not for the safety of our children, but “God, don’t let this be the Big One, I cannot have my body found here!” Ever since that early morning on the throne, I have been thinking an emergency preparedness kit is in order (I also spend much less time in the loo).

I also remember the first time I had to prepare a small kit for our daughter (and her siblings each year thereafter) for her school classroom. One of the things that needed to be added was a note … a note of encouragement … a ‘what if’ note. That was a most traumatic event as a mother!

So now, sixteen years after moving here, the iron has entered my soul, and I am determined to prepare for, what scientists believe to be, the inevitable.

I have started with purchasing tarps and garbage bags, and emptying the large container that will house our kit. I have also started to research what is recommended to put into such a container, how long to be prepared for, and other preparations that need to be made.

In my research I found an article from Parents Magazine, by Wendy Sue Swanson, M.D., called “Are You Prepared for an Emergency?” which is all about  Emergency Preparedness. It is probably the best article I have read, with both a list of necessary items to pack, details to organize, plus rational for those things.

Check out this article by Dr. Swanson, and re-think emergency preparedness for you and your family.

On the subject of earthquakes, I thought I would share a song that comes to mind whenever I hear of such events 😉

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As a parent who believes in prayer, praying for my kids has been a regular thing since even before they were conceived.

One of the realities of prayer is that it is really more about me, than the one who I am praying for, as I do agree with C.S. Lewis who said, “prayer changes me” in this clip from his Shadowlands story.

But this is not something that I was fully aware of when I was a young mom. In the early days of motherhood I prayed, anticipating that God would grant my every request. Much like Santa with my gift list at Christmas time, I think that I subconsciously believed that if I was obedient to Him (kind of the equivalent to “being a good little girl”) then God would reward me by meeting my every wish and desire that was expressed in my prayers to Him. I may have even believed that I deserved to have my prayers answered.

When my children were young I prayed that they would grow up healthy, would make wise choices, and that they would be opened to God’s leading in their future decisions, especially surrounding their choice of friends, career and their choice of future spouse. These are all good, and I am not saying that I do not wish those things for them, but that I now wish even more for them.

The reality is that character rarely is developed without the exposure to temptation, life is not fully appreciated without the threat of or reality of loss, some of the best choices in life are made on the heels of the stupidest mistakes in our lives, love is rarely long lasting without enduring the struggles, and dependence on God rarely comes without a season of questioning His ways.

Really, the best things in our lives have often been born out of disaster, death and despair. Failures, mistakes and heartbreaks have a way of opening our eyes to what really matters to us, they have a way of drawing us to cling to God like nothing else.

I don’t pray for disaster for our kids, but I also have lived long enough to know that the greatest growth in life can come from the greatest difficulties. I also have lived long enough to know that life is hard, mistakes get made and difficulties will come to everyone in time.

Now I pray that they might have strength, grace and courage when the rough stuff of life happens, and that they might grow closer to their Heavenly Father through it all.

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Why does a couple need to get away, alone? In this day and age, it is not like parents have to share their bedrooms, their beds with their children (well, except maybe for some parents of toddlers and preschoolers). We have locks on our bedroom doors, homes of great comfort, and vehicles that can get us away for a few hours at any time … any time that we are both free!

Hubby and I stole a few hours to ourselves this past weekend. He had the entire weekend booked off. Our Chinese students were planning to spend the weekend with relatives in another city, our daughter had plans to have a sleep over with a friend, and hubby was hot on a trail to find a place for our son to go.

After drop offs, errands and appointments we finally fell into our seats at the Greek restaurant we agreed to meet at for a nice, quiet dinner … for two.

And that is pretty much the only detail of our time away together that I am planning to share!

So, why does a couple need to get away, alone?

After this recent brief time away, I can answer it clearly and concisely … intimacy.

In the day to day of life with kids, pets, jobs and so many other responsibilities, survival mode is the one we stay in most of the time. Our conversations are about schedules and driving and issues related to everything but our relationship with each other. Our physical intimacy boils down to a quick kiss on the cheek and need meeting. Our ability to love the other with adoration, respect and desire is hindered by bills, fatigue and interruptions.

Basically we forget why we got together in the first place, while we are in a relationship that can begin to look more robotic than romantic.

After a few hours alone together, our conversations become more deep, more personal, more intimate. We are free to venture into areas such as dreams and fears. We are free to be just one couple, not parents, employees, bill payers, laundry doers, kid drivers, football coaches … just ONE couple.

And in having the opportunity to be alone reminds us of the intimate oneness that was all part of the plan from the beginning, that the two would become one. Not one parent unit, not one property management, social committee, corporation, but one couple.

To miss out on this opportunity of intimate oneness would be a great loss.

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“And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars.
See that you are not alarmed,
for this must take place,
but the end is not yet.”
Matthew 24:6

I do not know all that is involved in the meaning behind the passage above. Wars and rumors of wars have been taking place almost since Adam and Eve first ate of the fruit that they were instructed not to eat.

Today is Remembrance Day (Veterans Day, Armistice Day) a day that brings a watery-eyed stare to the eyes of veterans, a day for those of us living in peace and freedom an opportunity, not to glorify war, but to thank those who sacrificed for the gift of peace and freedom.

There is nothing like hearing the stories of freedom attained during WWII as the Canadian soldiers (and others) marched into Holland, or the stories of Jews who survived the Holocaust, because of the freedom attained through the lives of others, to push me to a cenotaph on November 11 … it is the least I could do.

Soldiers are not warmongers, they are men and women who are called to give … give their time, their youth, their will, and even their lives. They are fulfilling not a desire to kill, but a desire to prevent others from being killed, abused, demeaned, disrespected. They are fulfilling their job, as instructed to do so.

But it does not mean that those with whom they are enemies in wartime, are enemies in times of peace.

My family and I are blessed to see the redeeming work of God every Sunday, just by going to church. You see, the make up of our church is something that only God could do, and He has done it so well. On any given Sunday our sanctuary is filled with individuals from all over the world. And, in the pews sit many veterans … Canadian, German, and (until recent years) Russian … wartime enemies, peacetime friends.

I struggled with locating a ‘guest post’ for today. I so wanted something that would be meaningful, respectful, honoring.

So, in light of my earlier words about freedom, I want to introduce you to Neil Wilkenson, a British Gunner during the Falkland War, and Argentinean fighter pilot Mariano Velasco. During this war Neil shot Mariano’s plane down, and has been dealing with post traumatic demons ever since. In an effort to find inner peace, Neil wanted to find out what happened to the fighter pilot he shot down. This is the story of their reunion, and the freedom that was found by these wartime enemies.

In the words of Neil, “the welcome was everything I had thought of, no thoughts of hatred, nothing but pure admiration for each other and as former professionals we both understood it was our duty to carry out what we had against each other back in 1982.”

Another, more intensive link is here.

 

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“I really do think my hubby is brave. In a world where men still seem to feel the need to control much of life around them, my hubby is confident in who he is … confident enough that he lets me also be who I am, and for that I am immensely thankful.”

I wrote the above this past summer in a post called Brave Husband where I wanted to give credit to my hubby for allowing, and accepting my creative side in our home and garden. And this post is the second and final post about the closet reno. that is (finally) complete.

It began with a vision in my head, and an itching in my soul to tear down, and build up. I ripped everything out of the closet, and put on my construction hat.

I had a plan, measured, cut, changed the plan, sweated, built, changed the plan yet again … I am a natural at adapting and modifying!

After the frame was built, the bench and lower shelves installed, much of what was left was the beautifying. And it doesn’t take much time in the beautifying to discover that it is there that things can get costly.

For example, I wanted to install a shelf, above the coat hook area (to place my very cool -cheap- older suitcases, for storage). I was thinking that rustic, wooden corbels would do the trick (much like the ones to the right). Well, apparently the law of supply and demand would indicate that there is great demand for them (try broken ones for $100 each!!!) thus, I needed a new plan.

So, off to the orange home store, where I scored four cast iron looking plant hooks, which cost less than $4 each. Then to the dollar store where I found real cast iron hooks for just $2 each (and since I had two from another project, I only had to purchase four).

My goal for this project was to not spend more than $100 from beginning to end, utilizing as many materials as I could from around our home, and purchased from thrift stores and yard sales. I was sure that I might just blow the budget completely when I started to seek out estimates for foam for the bench. The price range was $56 and up! After I picked my weakened self off the floor, I started considering other ways to get foam. My final purchase was a foam mattress topper, which I cut myself, and it cost $15.

The fabric for the pad was a bit of a concern too, but I said my prayers before walking into a thrift store one day, and low and behold, there was a roll of fabric for $10, that I really loved, and was only $10.

I was able to use moldings that I had laying around from previous projects, as well as paint, and many nails, screws, caulking (a little DAP will cover a multitude of sins poor cuts), and decor.

The following are the things I had to purchase:

$27.24 for drill bits and plywood
$48.29 for bead board and nails
$7.00 for the ‘TV cabinet’ that became my lower shelves
$10.55 for paint for trim (my old can had not been closed tightly 😦
$15.98 for the brackets to hold up the top shelf
$9.00 for hooks
$9.99 for the fabric
$15.49 for the foam
$7.oo for the two suitcases
$12.49 for the extra moldings

So, I was over my $100 budget, but still it was not a terrible cost, with the grand total coming in at $163.03, and NONE of that cost was labor, because I did it all myself (with a little help from my guy when I would get a screw stuck … I think we need a new, cordless, drill).

This project, with all it’s challenges, dust, mess, sweat and head scratching really fed my creative being. I felt refreshed for having the opportunity to demolish, plan, build and create.

Through the process hubby encouraged me, assisted with the challenges I have as the physically ‘weaker’ sex, and told me it looks so much better when it was all done. He knows that I tend to get a bit OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) when it comes to my creative projects, resulting in him BBQ’ing more meals than normal, driving kids more often than normal, and more mess around the house. Yet, he continues to encourage me to be … me.

I think I will keep him!

(… because I have a bigger project planned for next summer 😉 )

 

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