A Few New Shots

drumming

We are wrapping up a visit with Jon's sisters and their families, which reminded me of the first time Laurel met her Auntie Pam and Uncle Owen. Here is a glimpse of that first visit, when Laurel was about 2 months old.

Laughter

One of the best sounds I've heard lately is Laurel's laughter. She just started laughing a few weeks ago, and no one can make her laugh like her dad. And when she laughs, we can't help but laugh, too! As I type this, she's just laughing away in the next room! Here's a short clip.

The Work of My Hands

Here are a few things I've done lately...now I just have to open the cards, write in them, and get them mailed!

And here is a toque that I finally finished last night...

Photo Shoot

It's Monday afternoon.  The laundry is well underway.  The dishwasher has been run.  The bed is made.  Laurel and I were wondering what we should do next.  And then we thought, "Let's do a photo shoot."  So, we did, complete with wardrobe changes.  Here are some pics from that little adventure.  Captions are below the pictures...

"This is our winter line.  Notice my hat matches my sweater."

"I've got lots to think about."

"Don't you have anything more challenging?  I'm kind of a modeling pro, you know."

"Okay, mom, this is a little much.  Can I lose the hat?"

"I'm pretty much the cutest."

"Are we done?"

Blitz Blog

Okay, so I know it's been forever since I've written.  And the five of you who sometimes read this blog have probably given up even checking it.  It's not that I haven't had anything to say--it's that I've had too much to say and haven't taken the time to sit down and say it.  So, here is a blitz of the last month....

1. We went to Chinook, Montana so that I could baptize little Ezra Arntzen.  It made me reflect on what the Parable of the Sower has in common with infant baptism--the grace that is lavished on us, though we have done nothing to deserve it, even before we are capable to respond to it.

2. Laurel went on her first plane ride all the way to Ohio.  She was a star traveller--she even slept during take off and landing.  

3. From Ohio, we travelled to Danville, Kentucky where I got to see four of my college friends.  There was all kinds of laughter as we remembered our Centre days.  Those were great days and great friends...even if we were dressed in hiking boots and flannel shirts.

4. My friend Annie Parsons drove from Nashville to Cincinnati to see us!  And I got to be one of the first to buy her new cd!  I highly recommend it.  And I recommend her blog.

5. Laurel experienced her first Halloween.  

6. We flew back to Edmonton.  And Laurel was great, yet again.

7. Since being back, I am trying to discern the line between cautious and paranoid when it comes to the whole H1N1 scene.  I am eligible to get vaccinated on Tuesday...so I just keep thinking I just have to make it to Tuesday (and then the two weeks it takes for the vaccine to kick in) and then we'll be good.  Laurel is too little for the vaccine, so I figure her best defense is for me to stay healthy.  But am I being paranoid or just cautious if I don't want to go out in public at all?

8. Laurel got her four month shots.  Yes, she's that old already.  These were harder than the two month shots because she was all smiles, thinking everything was okay, and then BAM she gets stuck with 3 needles...at two months she wasn't really smiling yet, so somehow I didn't feel like I was betraying her trust quite so much.

That's the blitz blog.  I will try to write more often and more reflectively in the near future!

Days and Weeks and Months

We have moved from counting time with Laurel in weeks to counting time in months.  She is already three months old.  I don't even know how many weeks she is any more.  Three months means that I have cleaned out the little onesies that no longer fit her from her drawers.  She is now fitting into things that once looked so big for her.  Three months also means that she is grabbing ahold of the toys that hang above her on her play mat.  She went from waving her arms and accidently bumping into the toys to intentionally grasping them.  And three months means lots of smiles.  I love it when she smiles--her whole face lights up.

I remember visits to a friend who was a mom of young kids when I would be home in Ohio.  I would tell her of all my recent adventures, but when I asked her what was new in her life, she never seemed to have much to share.  I feel like I am there, now.  My days are filled with meaning.  But it's not meaning that makes for great conversation (unless you are as obsessed with Laurel as I am).  My adventures have to do with moving from a diaper service to washing our own cloth diapers (today's that day) and trying to figure out how to keep her hands warm at night and making a slow simmering spaghetti sauce and being reminded that time sensitive things are harder with a baby (like yesterday when I was ready to knead our bread dough right when Laurel woke up and needed to be fed).  My adventures involve bussing to the grocery store and seeing how many groceries will fit in the little storage space under the stroller.  Or trying to get my cereal out of the cupboard without finding a dead mouse or setting off the mouse trap.  These are my days.  And I love them.  Even if they are melting too quickly into weeks, which are melting too quickly into months.

My friend Jen is measuring her baby boy's hours and hoping that they pile into days and weeks and months.  Henry was born just over a week ago and immediately faced all kinds of complications.  And so he is in the NICU.  Maybe because it was just three months ago that Laurel was born or maybe it's because it makes me recognize how vulnerable our children are at this age or maybe because I care about Jen and want good things for her and her family or maybe because of all of these things and more, I find them on my heart often throughout the day.  And, along with those who know and love Jen and Nate, I dare to pray big prayers.  Jen has asked that we not be afraid to pray for miracles.  Will you join me in praying for them?  Will you join me in asking God to lavish his grace on this family in such a way that they have heaps of days and weeks and months and years of time together?  Will you join me in asking God to bring little Henry through this without long term effects?  We have a big God who can do big things.

Putting on My Big Girl Pants

It's 1 a.m.  I am wide awake.  Why?  Because my car alarm just woke me up.  And when I went to shut it off, I noticed the passenger side door was open.  Did someone just honestly try to steal my car?  My 11 year old car?  Seriously?  The thought that runs through my head isn't about the potential of losing the car, but the potential of losing the stroller that's in the trunk.  And now I'm wondering if I left something valuable in the front seat...because if they were trying to steal the car, why would they open the passenger side door and not the driver's side door?  I am hoping that there was nothing there to steal.  But now I am freaked out...and therefore wide awake.

And.  Of course.  Jon is out of town.  Because why would something like this happen when he's here?  

That.   And I'm sick.  I mean, not full out can't move sick.  But not feeling well.  And, truth be told, when I don't feel well, I just want my mom.  33 years old and I still call my mom when I don't feel well.  Sigh.  

But now I'm a mom.  With a wee little one to care for, whether I feel okay or not.  I guess it's time to put on my big girl pants.

****

And now, at 9 a.m....I have found a dead mouse in the mouse trap by the cereal.  Seriously?  That mouse couldn't have been caught 48 hours ago when Jon was home to deal with it?  For Pete's Sake.

Circle

We journeyed to Banff last weekend and spent some time in the hot springs.  The last time I went to the Banff hot springs was almost 30 years ago.  I remember being there at the ripe age of 4...but, as with most things, the springs were much bigger back then.  

I spent a chunk of our visit in the locker room nursing Laurel.  As I sat feeding her, I watched an elderly lady make her way towards us.  She was hunched over and very unsteady on her feet.  I feared that she was going to fall, so I played out in my mind what I would do when it happened.  But she made it safely to our bench and sat down next to us after getting her things out of her locker.  As I continued to feed Laurel, she slowly and. perhaps, painfully, changed her clothes and we chatted here and there.    Looking down at this new baby girl who has so much ahead of her.  And then looking over at this old woman who has so much behind her.  I was struck by the circle of life, by the beauty of a new baby and the beauty of a woman who has lived and loved and learned and laughed.  

Good Baby?

I have discovered that there are common questions that are asked during pregnancy:

"How are you feeling?"

(I was usually feeling great)

"When are you due?"

(June 16...only no one told Laurel, so she came when she wanted to)

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

(No, we didn't...but, of course, we do now)

And there seem to be common questions asked of new parents:

"Is she sleeping through the night?" or "Are you getting much sleep"

(Since you asked, yes, she has started sleeping through the night...which means we are getting sleep, too).

"Is she a good baby?"

Okay, this one I take issue with.  What does that actually mean?  What defines a good baby?  Is a good baby one that doesn't cry?  (and therefore doesn't communicate her needs?)  Or does it mean that she doesn't lie, steal, and cheat?  Is the opposite of a good baby, a bad baby? And does it matter if she's good?  She's our baby and we love her--that's what matters.  Why are you so concerned about if she's good or not?  

And, yes, she is a good baby!

Overheard

Today Laurel and I rode the bus to and from her appointment to get her two month shots.  On the ride home, Laurel was nestled into her sling, happily asleep, and I was sipping my vanilla latte.  Two elderly women sat behind us.  Here is what I heard them say...

"That woman has a baby."

(Are they talking about me?)

"Well, she's married--she has a wedding ring on."

"That's her right hand."

(they're not talking about me)

"Well, some men like big women."

"Yeah, especially Italians.  They like them big and dirty.  They like really smelly women."

****

Really?  They said that out loud?  I take no responsibility for the content of those statements!  

Broken

A few weeks ago I knocked this ceramic cat nightlight off the dresser and it crashed to the floor.  It had been mine when I was little, and it was being passed on to Laurel, to light up her room at night, to create a glow of warmth and remind her that she is safe and cared for and protected.  As I swept up the pieces I grieved a little for the loss of an heirloom.  And I also grieved for  the brokenness it represents—the hurts that we can’t fix, the pieces we can’t glue back together.  Today we let a friend cut Laurel’s fingernails.  It’s a task that’s dreaded by most parents,  and here was an offer from someone we trust.  But things went badly and Laurel ended up with five bloody fingers.  She cried that heartbreaking cry—the one where you know she means things are not okay, not even close to being okay.  And I had to work hard to not join her.  Jon and I felt sick to our stomachs, knowing that we had handed her over to pain, knowing that we didn’t protect her.  We know she’ll be okay.  We know that most parents have stories of the time they cut their baby’s fingers.  We know that there are much, much worse things that can happen to a baby.  We know that we haven’t yet experienced what it really means to watch your child suffer.

But we still feel horrible that she has been hurt and there is nothing we can do about it.  

Someone said the hurts just get bigger from here.  How true those words are.  There will be bee stings and scraped knees, broken arms and chicken pox.  There will be disappointments at not making the team or not getting invited to the party.  There will be failed tests, hurt feelings, broken hearts.  And we will try to protect her.  On some days we will succeed.  But on others we will fail.  Because part of life involves getting hurt, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.   And in the midst of getting hurt, she will grow.  And we will grow.  And we will, as long as she will let us, be there to walk with her in the midst of it, to give extra hugs and words of hope, to help her put the pieces back together if we can.

Jasper

We took Laurel on her first trip to the mountains this weekend!  She did great--she slept most of the way in the car.  

She even got to go on her first boat ride...

Hanging out with Dad in the grass by the lake...

 

On a walk...

We arrived back home on Sunday night, tired, but thankful for some time in the mountains!  

A Few Pics..

Our little peanut...thanks to Jane for the cute onesie and hat!

She made it five weeks without a soother...but then we caved. 

All dressed up!

She loves her bath time!

Showing off her shades at her baby shower!

Slow

It's hard to believe that Laurel is five weeks old.  At the same time, it's hard to believe that we have only known her for five weeks.  One thing I've noticed in my journey with Laurel so far is that having a baby slows you down.  It changes the pace, creates a different rhythm.  The to-do list becomes less important, while sitting and watching her discover the mobile above her head becomes a high priority.  The quiet moments of the 3 am feed are more precious than the sleep I'm giving up.  A walk through the neighborhood reveals new observations as I walk not to get somewhere, but simply to enjoy my time with her.  I discovered a wading pool not far from our house that I'd never known existed.  And I've interacted with more people on the street than I had before, simply because of Laurel.  I like this pace.  I like that I don't have to rush to accomplish something--I simply have to be present and love those around me.  Thanks, Laurel, for giving me this gift of slow.  

Her First Month

How Does Your Garden Grow?

It was Friday night when this whole thing got started. Actually, it was Thursday night. We were leaving the country for two weeks on Saturday, and felt that if my dream of having a garden was going to come true, we'd have to get things planted before we left. So, on Thursday night we built a garden box and bought seeds. On Friday night we filled it with soil and planted 10 different types of vegetables.
I have never planted a garden before. Ever. Once I tried to plant flowers in a flower bed, but they all died. So, all of this is incredibly new to me. And I am fascinated.
The seeds are tiny. Tiny. And it's hard to believe that they will turn into the picture on the envelope. I felt like it was an act of faith--putting these tiny things into the ground, covering them with soil, hoping something comes of it. I suddenly had new insight into the parable of the sower...it really is ridiculous that a farmer would scatter seeds on areas where they won't grow--how wasteful...how scandalously generous.

We left town, hoping our little garden box would be okay with out us.

And we returned to green leaves and shoots standing proudly above the soil. Just like that. Have you ever seen a bean plant grow? Two days ago, there was nothing there, and then, all of the sudden, here is this sprout that has pushed its way up. Beans aren't subtle; they don't gently creep through the soil. No, they burst out of the ground, leaving clumps of broken earth around them.

We might be those odd people the neighbors talk about. When we arrived home from our trip at 1:30 in the morning, we dropped our bags inside and went straight to the backyard to check on our garden. And since then, we've probably checked on it 3-4 times a day.

In gardening, we learn to trust and to let go, to celebrate and to hope. And probably, sometimes, we learn to be disappointed.

Live from New York

Metropass card $20
Tickets to a Broadway show: $130
Dancing to "New York, New York" with a group of nuns and a few kids from a shelter: priceless

Hot dog from a street vendor: $2
Admission to the Metropolitan Museum of Art: $20
Trying on clothes in the 34th Street Macy's while Clinton from "What Not to Wear" is giving fashion advice to the person in the changing room next to you: priceless.

Grateful

I spent last week at a conference at Regent. Marva Dawn, Darrell Johnson, and Bruce Hindmarsh were the speakers. It was such a rich week. The content was abundant--my notes filled pages and pages of my journal. The speakers were passionate and knowledgeable. The worship was like drinking from a deep and refreshing well.

And I was struck by how right it felt to be back there--this is a place and a people who have profoundly shaped me, and it felt so good to be in that space again. I reconnected with people who were part of my journey for those four years.

And I got to spend the entire week with my sister-in-law, who basically rocks. On Saturday morning, she had already left, and I spent some time alone--and I realized that we had basically talked non-stop from the time we both got there until we said goodbye. The last two mornings, we'd bus only the part of the way to Regent, get a coffee (or a tea), and walk through the endowment lands the rest of the way.

I was reminded of my love for Vancouver, with its mountains and water, green trees and flowers, active life styles, ethic food, funky shops and restaurants, produce markets, and the diversity of people. It made coming home a little...well...depressing. But, the grass is beginning to turn green here. And I was able to ride my bike to work today. So I will try to embrace the next few months of sun before darkness and snow cover the city yet again.

What book are you?

Apparently my cinnamon dulce latte order at Starbucks makes my personality type "lame." (see Becca's blog)

Well, at least my personality type as determined by the book quiz has something better to say! I'm Huck Finn...which means that I find the world fascinating, speak with an accent, and love straw hats. I'd say that's not too far off.

To be honest, the first time I took the quiz, it said I was a bit schizophrenic, so I changed an answer...I just can't be locked into one thing!

What book are you?

Morning Conversations

Common morning dialogue in our house:

Me: I had the weirdest dream last night.

Jon: Really?? Oh wait, that happens every night.

Me: No, but this one was really weird...

And then I proceed to tell him the details.

I have a few recurring dreams:

1. Awkward driving dreams: I am driving a car, but something isn't right. Sometimes I am sitting in the backseat, reaching my arms up to the steering wheel. Sometimes I am heading up a hill and am at such a steep incline that I can't see the road--only the sky above me (I had this one last night--and we were on the edge of a mountain, which made it a bit more dangerous).

2. Teeth falling out: One or several of my teeth come loose, just like when I was little. I wiggle it until it comes out...and then I realize that it was one of my permanent teeth. Each time I have this thought, "I've dreamt about this happening so many times, and now it finally happened for real." And I have a sense of dread that I've just lost a tooth.

3. Snakes: Everywhere I look there is a snake, but no one else seems to notice or care. Whoever I am with will walk ahead of me down the sidewalk, but when I try, there are snakes everywhere.

Any interpretations?

Childlike Faith

We stood watching the Main Street Disneyland Parade, where the story book characters came to life on the street. We wanted to see enough of it to feel like we'd seen it and then run to the next ride while the lines were shorter.
A little girl behind us was a much more dedicated fan. She sat quietly on her mom's shoulders, waiting. Floats came and went and not a sound was heard from her. Until two specific floats came into view. First, Alice in Wonderland. And the little girl cried out with all the passion that can be contained in a 6 year old body, "Alicia, Alicia!" (I think she was speaking French...Jon thinks Spanish). It was a desperate cry--a cry that said "if only Alice would look my way, if only she would wave at me, my life would be complete." Once Alice and her friends passed by, our little friend was quiet again...until The Little Mermaid float came by. "Ariel, Ariel!" Again, a desperate, pleading cry.

Not long after that, Jon and I slipped out of the parade crowds to find another ride...Snow White's Scary Adventure...which, by the way, is a little creepy.

Every now and then one of us will call out "Alicia, Alicia" in memory of our parade friend. And when we do, I smile--because it reminds me of her unbridled passion for her heroines, her hope that they might see her, and her belief that if they did, it would make all the difference.

Oh to have that faith.

First and Only Wife

Last night we stumbled across a t.v. show that is, apparently, in its second season. Perhaps you've already seen it. It's called Big Love, and it's the story of a man with three wives.
Two and a half years ago, my college sociology prof wrote on his blog his thoughts about polygamy, arguing that legalizing polygamy would be the big cultural issue of 2020.
Less than three years later, there is already a sit-com that seems to be attempting to normalize polygamy.

I have only watched this show once, so perhaps I shouldn't comment on it. But I'm going to.

They seem to be setting up "good," "normal" polygamy against "bad" "cult-like" polygamy. The people on the show who live in a compound and blindly follow the prophet are portrayed as out of touch with reality, strange, and backwards. The people who live in the suburbs and practice polygamy are just like us--they are caring parents, business people, and engaged citizens. Their kids have ipods and dress like other teenagers. We are supposed to sympathize with this family with many wives, but we are not supposed to sympathize with the polygamists on the compound.

I find the show interesting not just because it seems to be trying to normalize a certain type of polygamy, but also because there are so many relational dynamics portrayed.

I can see reason for practicing polygamy in societies where women are considered less than human--where to be unmarried is to be unable to survive. (I think that might be what was going on in the Old Testament). But I can't see why it would be a good idea in a culture like ours.
The blog post I linked above gives lots of sociological reasons why it's a bad idea.

I tried to imagine being in a polygamous relationship...I decided that I would want to be the first wife. Actually, that's a lie...I want to be the only wife. I don't want to share my husband with someone else. I don't want to have to worry about power dynamics with other women in my own house. I don't want to sleep alone a few nights a week while he's with wife number 2. I don't want to have to find out a few days later something that happened in his life while he was with wife number 3.

Sure, second wife could watch the kids or third wife could make supper when I've run out of time...but even those two things speak of gender roles that Jon and I don't agree with--they assume that the women take care of the kids and the house while the man earns the money. Maybe an egalitarian approach would be to have a big group marriage with lots of husbands and lots of wives. (no thanks)

Maybe in a few years time we will be considered intolerant and close minded if we aren't willing to accept polygamy as a legitimate alternative lifestyle.


I'll stick to the whole one husband, one wife deal, thanks.

Butterflied Books on the Bedside Table

Jon and I disagree about what activities are appropriate at bedtime. In my opinion, reading is the best use of those last few minutes before sleep. In Jon's opinion, turning off the light and going to sleep is the best use of those last few minutes. We have an ongoing debate about how long I can read with the light on while he is trying to fall asleep.

But I have discovered the secret to solving this domestic disagreement: give Jon a book he can't put down. Pretty soon, I am the one turning off the light first.

Right now I have 5 books sitting on my bedside table. 5 books that I have sought out in the past few weeks to be my before bed reading. 4 of these are butterflied; folded open to mark my page.

One is due back at the library in a few days, and I likely won't finish it. It's the one that's not butterflied.

One is a book I've started a few times and have never finished...it's by Louisa May Alcott. I might never finish it, but it's a good one to start when I don't have anything else to read.

One is a book I read in college and loved: "The Memory of Old Jack" by Wendell Berry. It describes places that are close to places I know and people I wish I knew. I like the familiarity of it. Chances are I won't finish it this time...but I will re-read it at some point.

One is "The Preaching Life" by Barbara Brown Taylor. Her words are poetry. I want to both sip them in slowly and drink them down in big gulps. I seem to be sipping more than gulping.

One is "The Poisonwood Bible." It's the one I'm picking up the most and leaving the light on the longest for. Maybe when I'm finished, I'll pass it on to Jon, and it will result in more time to read the other books before he says "is it time to turn off the light yet?"

Deceived

Two tennis rackets are perched by our front door. A set and a half of golf clubs rattle around in the trunk of our car. My road bike, which has lived in our living room all winter, in case I ever had the urge to pedal in place, has been re-released into the wilds of the garage.

Each of these is evidence of the deception we experienced last weekend. A mere 8 days ago we went to an outdoor driving range. 7 days ago, we attempted to play tennis at the courts down the street, but, finding them full, went for the first bike ride of the season in the river valley. I wore shorts and a t-shirt. And I wasn't cold. I believed that winter had finally released her grip on us. I even began to believe that Edmonton isn't that bad, after all. (That very thought ran through my head as we walked to the tennis court).

When I heard we had another cold spell coming, I was quick to defend the weather. The Parable of the Day Laborers came to mind, and I proclaimed that we shouldn't complain about a small dip in temperature--we had, after all, received an unseasonably warm two days--how could we complain about that?

But then the slight dip turned into a nose dive. And I woke this morning to this:

And it's still snowing. Just when I was ready to put away my winter clothes. Sigh. And so I am again hunkered down inside. And Jon is running a 10 mile race...outside. I don't know which one of us feels angrier. I guess now is the time to do all of that cross-country skiing that I neglected for the last 6 months of snow.

Recent Reads

I just finished reading the trendy Christian book "The Shack." Usually I try to either avoid the trends or snatch them up before they become trendy. Or, let's be honest, often I hear about a trend a few years after it's over. But, this time I think I am in the middle of it, since several other people I know are either reading or have just finished reading this book.

My thoughts...I don't want to give too much away for those who haven't read it. It's a beautiful story and a beautiful portrayal of the Trinity. Even as someone who acknowledges in my head that God is neither male nor female, I tend to speak of God as "he." The portrayal of God as neither and both was well done. This book says a lot about forgiveness, judging others, and relationships. I'll write more after I've had more time to reflect on it.

Another book I've recently read is "There Is No Me Without You." This is a wonderful story, filled with heartbreak and love, courage and disappointment. It tells the true story of a woman in Ethiopia who ends up running an orphanage. I say "ends up" because it's not what she intended to do, but as child after child ended up needing her help, she found she couldn't say no. Background information about HIV/AIDS and the political issues that have led to the crisis in Ethiopia are woven throughout the narrative. This is a great book--it might make you want to change the world!

Older?

There aren't really clear lines that we cross from one phase of life into the next. Sure, there are obvious things like getting married or having children. But, there is no clear line to determine when a person crosses from youth to adult. And from young adult to middle aged adult. And so on.

I've often wondered if I will still feel like a kid when I am 60. Because I certainly felt like kid when I turned 30...and in the words of Deana Carter, "I still remember when 30 was old."

But I've had two experiences in the past week that have made me wonder if I might be growing up (or growing older?). The first happened after I got my hair cut. I had a couple of people mistake me for a university student. That is not unusual--I have always been told I look much younger than I am. Normally, this frustrates me--I just want to look my age! I don't want to look like a university student. But last week, when one person said she thought I was a student, my gut level reaction was, "nice." I appreciated it. Strange.

The second experience happened in the mall on Saturday. I was sitting in the food court, watching all of the dynamics of various relationships get played out on several stages. And as I watched a number parents of young children find tables and get their lunch, I thought, "Wow, they look young."

I still most often feel like a kid. Some of that might be the youngest child syndrome. But maybe I'm growing "older" in small ways.

Rediscovering My Voice

In the last 9 days, I've preached the same sermon three times. The first time was for a church that I have never been to before. I preached from a manuscript. I think I was somewhat dry.

The second time, I preached for the church I'm part of. I preached from an outline, and had times for them to break into discussion groups or answer questions throughout the sermon. It was low key, relaxed, conversational.

The third time, I preached for a church I have preached at once before. I preached from an outline and used an ear piece mic and walked around the stage as a I spoke. I should have found myself boring--it was the same stuff I had preached last week. But I found I came alive and I connected with people. This is how I used to preach. But it's been a while. I've gotten so tied to the manuscript, so concerned about saying the exact right words, so comfortable standing safely behind a big podium, that my old enthusiasm and passion seemed to get squelched.

This isn't the case for everyone--I have heard dynamic preachers who use a manuscript and stay behind a podium.

And maybe there's a season for manuscripts and a season for outlines. A season for podiums and a season for walking around. But it sure felt good yesterday to be in that place again. It felt like coming home.

In My Ears

Okay, so I know the big toe has been up here for way too long...finally a new post!
I received an ipod nano for Christmas and have been discovering the world of itunes. I don't actually have much music on my ipod...I'm sure I'll get there eventually...for now, I am enjoying lectures and sermons. Here are a few things I subscribe to (all free)...

1. "Speaking of Faith" is a podcast from American Public Media. In each podcast a different person is interviewed on a certain faith related topic. I find these interviews so engaging--especially the variety of topics covered. I've listened to interviews with Martin Marty about the development of Evangelicalism in the US, Eli Weisel about faith and forgiveness, a scholar about the importance of creeds to our faith, a Christian politician about environmental issues, a person who had been a Muslim extremist, and the first woman to lead the Islamic Society of North America. What I appreciate is that these are intelligent, thoughtful people speaking about their experiences and expertise.

2. NPR...if you live in Canada and miss your NPR fix, itunes can hook you up! I subscribe to two podcasts from NPR: Books and Culture.

3. Various sermons...from 10th Avenue Alliance in Vancouver to the Meeting House to Mars Hill in Michigan.

4. Pray-As-You-Go: These are short, daily podcasts that combine scripture, music, and reflections to get you refocused. I know, it sounds cheesy. I was skeptical. But it's put out by the Jesuits...and I don't think "cheese" when I think Jesuit.

5. Various chapel talks and university lectures: These are from itunesu. Some universities get big names in to speak at chapel...and then put their sermons online. Some universities post special lecture series or even entire classes. I have downloaded classes on C.S. Lewis and the Pauline Epistles that I haven't had the chance to listen to yet.

6. National Geographic Videos: Okay, these are great. I learned, for example, that there are cows that look like body builders. It's the craziest thing--you've got to see these cows. National Geographic comes alive with these videos. Fun, short, and educational.

So...that's what's playing in my ears these days. I just wish I had more listening time.

It's Finally Here

The big toe has been glazed, fired, and brought home! So...now we have our very own big toe candy dish. I know, you're jealous.

Carpool

Here I sit at work...waiting for Jon to come pick me up. He's usually here by now. He's running late.

And it finally dawns on me...I drove today.

What A Wednesday

I woke up tired, had hardly slept. Pushed back the dreams that had taunted me all night. Faced the day. A memorial service I was leading. So many details to think through. So many words to carefully choose. It's noon. People packed in, the service began. Great stories were told. Laughter and tears mingled together. Two hours of sharing memories, expressing lament, professing hope.

Jon woke up tired, had hardly slept. Faced the day. It's noon. An intense job interview, asking hard questions. An hour and a half of questions. Afterwards, time of waiting...but not too long. And the job was offered.

Lunch was skipped by us both.

A celebration dinner. Butter chicken at a favorite Indian restaurant. A long talk about what the future might hold with this new job. A movie at home, snuggled on the couch.

Tired bodies to bed early.

And still I wake up tired today.

Returning Home

We just spent a week in California at a campus ministry conference and having a bit of a vacation. It was a great week of connecting with new friends and old.

In San Diego, we boarded the train for San Juan Capistrano...but not before we (apparently) put our future children's lives at risk. This is the sign that greets visitors to the train station:

After the conference, we went to the happiest place on earth for the first time in our lives. I got to meet the Mouse:

Then we headed to Santa Barbara to meet up with two old friends from two different eras of my life. And we stayed in an amazing bed and breakfast:

After a week of traveling, we headed home to snow (although the weather isn't too bad).

And we discovered shortly after arriving home that a student at my school had died that morning. So now I am planning a memorial service and trying to walk with a grieving community. It's in moments like these, when nothing makes sense and people are hurt and confused and clinging to each other, that I realize the profound purpose in what I do. I don't have many answers. And I've never planned a memorial service before. I don't have the skills or the wisdom of people who have been pastors for many years. I don't pretend to have the right words. But in the midst of my own inadequacy, I have a deep sense that I am where I am supposed to be. And that in my own brokenness, God will work through me.

And so this weekend will be spent planning a memorial service, writing a message for that service, and spending time with students. And with a very real awareness that I am deeply dependant on God for all what I am and all that I do.

Finding a Luck Finder

My friend Sarah (who I haven’t talked to in a couple of years—Sarah, where are you?) introduced me to the term “luck finder.” A luck finder is someone that people are lucky to find, someone that you really want to be with, someone that you feel blessed to know.

I used to express a similar idea by thinking of who I would most want to sit next to at a dinner party. I want to sit next to someone who is engaging and personal, funny and caring—someone who draws me in, someone who lets me share in who they are. This is different than just wanting to sit next to someone who might engage me in interesting dialog—that is good too, but not the same idea.

During my early years at Regent, my friends and I had a lexicon of different types of crushes. The surrogate crush. The professor crush. The hero crush. There were others, which I can’t remember. But the one I’ve absorbed into my vernacular is “the friend crush.” The friend crush occurs when you meet someone and you think, “I just really want to be friends with that person.” This is not some creepy romantic stalker thing. It’s seeing the beauty and depth in someone you don’t know well and wanting to be part of their life.

I met a luck finder the other day, someone I might just want to sit next to at a dinner party. And I think I’ve developed a friend crush.

Like A Radio

The first few notes wrap themselves around me like a familiar, well worn sweater, like a rich aroma that fills every pocket of air. The words come slowly, seductively, and I sigh. These lyrics, this music, touches a place in me that is filled with my deepest longings, my best hopes, and my fullest love. I find that as I listen, I am drawn both into myself and away from myself. Memories flood my mind: late night talks, long drives in the Kentucky hills and the Colorado Rockies, walking to school through the thick forests of the Endowment Lands in Vancouver, and friends--friends who have shared this music with me. And I find a renewed longing for deeper relationships, for meaningful conversation, for others for whom these songs resonate somewhere deep in their souls.
I'm going to go make a cup of hot tea and melt into the music of Over the Rhine.

Lament

Tonight in the theology of worship course, we talked about lament. A timely topic, considering that tomorrow begins the season of Lent.
As someone said tonight in class, lament doesn't sell. It doesn't make people feel good. It's not flashy or high tech. It's not exciting or upbeat.
But it's real. And honest. And intimate.

And it's something that is deeply lacking in many of our contemporary churches. We so often seem to be about the happy, feel good worship songs, and we miss the depth that many of the Psalms embody.

I've learned a few things about lament this year. These aren't my ideas, but things I've gained by reading a few different authors:

Lament makes our praise more genuine.
It helps us to love each other more deeply.
It validates and gives space for the human experience of pain.
It helps us to know God more deeply.

Lament begins with a personal invocation to God and it ends with an orientation to future praise, a vow to trust God.

As we enter Lent, I long for spaces where lament can be expressed in corporate worship. And I sometimes wonder if I am alone in this.

Cold

It was -28 C today...with the windchill it was -33 or something crazy like that. Did you know that when it gets that cold, your automatic garage door won't close? Which is too bad, because the time in life when you really don't want to have to get out of the car to close the garage door is when it's -28. Most of my friends and I are wearing long johns under our clothes. Jon wears long johns, pants, and then ski pants. It's ridiculously cold.

And when someone is mad at you, it feels even colder.

Big Toe

Last semester I began to make a life long dream a reality by taking a pottery course. This semester I signed up for another one and convinced Jon and our friend Lisa to take it with me. Last week the project was to make two small pots and put them together so that they became like an egg with the air trapped inside. From there, you could shape it into something. Many people in the class were making beautiful pieces of fruit. I was making a tea pot. And across the table from me was Jon who was making...what was he making, exactly? I asked him. And he declared, "Actually, this is a right big toe." He turned it around for me to see, and indeed, it was a toe. A big toe. A big toe with a hole under the toenail. A big toe with a hole under the toenail so that you can take a piece of candy. Because it's a candy dish. A big toe candy dish. Because, really, who wouldn't want to take a piece of candy out of something that resembles a toe?

Pics

So, I know these are old news now, but here are the projects I worked on during the Christmas break. I will write something more interesting soon!

Joy

So, I've been putting off updating this thing because I wanted to post a few pictures from Christmas...and I can't find the cables to connect the camera to the computer (that was a lot of "c" words). But if I wait any longer, Christmas will be too far gone to write about.

Here is what I did over Christmas break...

Read 1200 pages (give or take a few).

Knit 1 toque (or hat, if you're in the States).

Made 1 batch of buckeyes.

Ate 1 batch of buckeyes...and pretty much anything else that was nearby.

Made 4 cards.

Slept numerous more hours than usual.

Played 1 game of mini-stick floor hockey.

Spent lots of time with family and still didn't get my fill.

Two highlights...
Jon was playing with our nephews, running through the house. He stopped suddenly and our 3 year old nephew ran straight into him, his nose ramming into Jon's bum...and he got a bloody nose. Who else has a bum that's boney enough to give a poor little kid a bloody nose? It's like hitting a brick wall.

Second highlight...sitting in church the Sunday before Christmas, singing the usual Christmas songs. And all of the sudden the words of Joy to the World hit me, and I found myself choked up. "No more let sin or sorrow reign, nor thorns infest the ground. " What powerful words. What profound words. This is the Story we get to be part of. This is the vision we live in, the future we hope for. This is the longing of our hearts. And it is said in a Christmas song that most of us are so accustomed to singing that we fail to hear it. But singing that song this Christmas was a significant moment of worship for me.

Happy New Year.