be-musings

Rose made a comment on sky diving on my "All the Way" blog. She witnessed something firsthand (presumably a death) which has prevented her from trying something which, knowing Rose a bit, would be freeing to her. She would absolutely be PSYCHED by it! This is in no way a criticism of Rose, for I am the same in many things in life. After I replied to her comment it occupied me more deeply. I have to talk about this.
For fear of death, we don't live. We don't experience letting go. We don't experience freedom. We don't embrace life, except with a choke hold that paralyzes us.. Those who have no fear of death embrace life and sometimes live recklessly. We call it a death wish. Maybe it is in some cases. But there are those, like me at times, who in so avoiding risks that lead to death sometimes are the walking dead.
I was in the 1994 LA quake. I still get anxious when traffic stops in or under a bridge. Has one collapsed on me? No. Will one collapse on me? Maybe, maybe not. But I re-live the fear and the death on too many occasions. So really, I have died many times inside in doing this. And death is the one thing I have been trying to avoid. No, that isn't accurate. It's maiming and pain that I've been trying to avoid. Rose, so have you. Who else has been? And yet, in the coping mechanisms we are using we are experiencing it far more times and far more significantly than if we would just give in.

I'm too old to be learning these things now. They can't be perpetuated any more.

Here's a writing I found years ago.

Once there were two women, who never knew each other.
One you do not remember, the other you call mother.
Two different lives, shaped to make you one.
One became a guiding star, the other became your sun.
The first gave you life and the second taught you to live it.
The first gave you need for love and the second was there to give it.
One gave you nationality, the other gave you a name.
One gave you a seed of talent, the other gave you an aim.
One gave you emotions, the other calmed your fears.
One saw your first sweet smile, the other dried your tears
One gave you up...it was all that she could do.
The other prayed for a child and God led her straight to you.
And now you ask, through your fears
The age old questions, unanswered through the years.
Heredity or environment...which are you the product of?
Neither my darling...neither
Just two different kinds of love.


Thank you, Marci and Sean for entrusting us with this child of ours. It is a gift.

It's been 6 years since Matthew joined our family. In a previous post I referred to wanting a girl and being "disappointed" when we got the call for a boy. As you know, now I'm glad that a boy is what we have. But let me tell you more about what happened after the first call.
We got excited about adopting Matthew after the call. We were told it would take about 2 weeks to be able to go see him. We waiting for the call to prepare to go. Our adoption worker called us within about two weeks, but it was not to say that it was time. It was to say that the plan fell through. Another family member was arranging a family adoption. Our worker told us that Matthew's social worker was so upset by the plan of care that she was crying with him on the phone. He had never experienced this reaction from another worker. I found this out at work, and as I told my boss I cried and we hugged.
So, I went from being disappointed he not a girl to praying for him daily. I would ask God to find a good home for him, whether it be ours or not. I grew to love him, whether he was to be our child or not. I wondered what his future would hold arrangements that were being made.
Over the summer and along a rocky road of what seemed to be ever changing plans, we did end up adopting Matthew. And as much as I am still frustrated at the process of events that summer, I'm glad that we didn't get approved at the first phone call. I needed that time for my heart to be soft. To prepare to mother.

I’m not a person who loves water, except for my 20 minute showers where after I’m done washing (twice to extend my time in it) I stand there thinking there must be something else I can do in order to prolong getting out. If there’s hot water left in the tank then I’m not done! Everybody has a vice.
My first time on a waterslide was in 1994, when I was 30. Sounds weird hey? It was an indoor one at a hotel. I was freaked to go down it, because it meant plunging into the pool and losing control of my circumstances. How far under would I go? How long would I have to hold my breath? If I closed my eyes (and I surely would) how could I see any potential danger or sense direction? Screwy hey?
Then there was the time I went on the outdoor water slides at TransCanada 3 years ago, took one slide and became airborne off the side of the slide where I almost got shot off onto the concrete halfway down the hill. Fortunately last year it went much better.
Lately we’ve been going to the lake for quick trips, even when it has been raining. We all take turns “cliff jumping”. It’s not much of a cliff, but enough for Matthew, the dogs and I. I watched Brander and Matthew jump once, and thought "It's time to put this to rest." Brander pointed out the lower ledge for me, and off I went! The next time I went from the top, a little nervous I wasn't going to jump out far enough. But on another day, I got on the top, said "Watch me!" and jumped. Of course, I had to make a big deal about it too..."I jumped!" Small feat for some people, but a big feat for me.
Now you may be wondering why I’m writing in such detail. Let me flesh it out for you.
We all have fears. I’m fraught with them. Most are based in past experience or the experience of others. Many are realistic, and also paralyzing. Years ago there would have been no way I would have jumped off a “cliff” any higher than a diving board. I would have spent time studying all the angles of the water, the rocks, the trees, watched everyone else jump, freaked out, not done it, and gone home feeling like a loser. Enough is enough. The best way to conquer fear is to set your thoughts aside and just GO.
Sometimes we need to just get wet.

Maybe I’ll go skydiving next….

Our son is an extrovert. He loves people and he especially loves being noticed by people. This can cause behaviour problems. Let's just say...well...he's brain dead sometimes. This Kindergarten year had been a challenge for him, his teacher, and us. Academically he is very bright, and he is scary intuitive as I've mentioned before. But those things can be clouded on some bad days, by the lack of thought in the choices he makes..
As I would walk Matthew to school I would at times talk to him about having a good day and making the right behaviour choices. On a number of occasions he would say "But mommy, I don't think I can have a good day." He would sound so discouraged. I told him that anything could happen if he believed enough. He told me he couldn't believe. I would tell him I believed enough for both of us.
On some other school walks I would be discouraged about something (perhaps thinking Matthew would never "get it" or afraid to start my own daycare business and quit my "secure" bank job). Matthew would ask me what was wrong and I would tell him my discouragement. He would tell me everything was going to be okay, and I would respond by saying I wasn't sure. His answer: "Mommy, if you believe in something enough it will happen. That's what you say, right?" As adults we all know that's an oversimplified version of life. But sometimes that's the only version we need.

We need someone to believe in us more than we believe in ourselves. And we need to hear it said. It may not always change what's happening around us, but it gives us hope and haven. For those of you who believe in some of us this way, thank you.

The following is from a Bob Dylan tune. Others quote theologists and renowned thinkers of our time. Music is what speaks to me.

I believe in you even through the tears and the laughter
I believe in you even though we be apart
I believe in you even on the morning after
Oh, when the dawn is nearing
Oh, when the night is disappearing
Oh, this feeling is still here in my heart.

A man and woman were riding home in their horse drawn wagon. Suddenly, the horse reared up and the man stopped. He got down from the wagon, looked the horse in the eyes and said "That's 1." A while down the road, the horse reared again. The man got down again, looked the horse in the eyes and said "That's 2." He got back in and they continued on their way. After the horse reared again, the man got down from the wagon, looked at the horse and said "That's 3." At which time he loaded up his shotgun and blew the horse away. His wife looked at me in dismay and said "What did you do that for? How are we going to get home?" The man looked at his wife and said "That's 1."

(No animals were actually hurt in the real story)

I am on the left side you are on the right
Even if we both disagree I'm gonna love you with all my might
Love is not a ballad on the top ten chart
Love is not a virus from cupid's dart
Love is not a promise that you tear apart
Love is a commitment heart to heart

Maybe you feel impoverished but true love can abound
Why don't we expand our love and knock these four walls down
Love is not a matter of time and space
Love is not a flower in a golden vase
Love is not a fantasy in silk and lace
Love is a commitment face to face

I know that you've been hurt before, it's sad to comprehend
But baby I love you rich or poor so don't think this is the end
Love is not a fire like a burning coal
Love is not a high that you can't control
Love is not a moon and a midnight stroll
Love is a commitment soul to soul

Love can be a blessing or full of strife
Love burns like a kiss cuts like a knife
Love goes far beyond a man and wife
Love is a commitment life to life

(written and performed by Larry Norman)

Brander was talking to me about an idea he had. Partway through I said "That will work only if..." and HE cut ME off. He told me to listen to everything he had to say. Jokingly, I said "I shouldn't have to listen to you any more. Do you realize our relationship is backwards to most? I, the woman, do most of the listening, and you do most of the talking?" At which point Matthew looked at us and said "No, I do most of the talking."
We went grocery shopping as a family. After parking the van, Brander was volunteered to get the cart. Normally we all walk together, but when we got out of the van I said to Matthew "Let's walk ahead of daddy like we think we're the boss." To which Matthew replied "Mommy, we ARE the boss!"

I've tried to write this post once already and deleted it. It's been mulling around my mind all week, and I might as well write it. It may be raw in parts, and isn't finished. I think I'll leave it that way. Not everything can be wrapped up neat and tidy. Take what you want, or nothing at all.

When I was 13 my dad grounded me for leaving my girlfriend's house at 9:30 and not returning before he was summoned to go find us at midnight. I can clearly visualize that night. He was driving me home in the dark, in the blue truck. I looked across at him at the beginning of the emphatic chastisement. "You shouldn't have gone without telling them ." "You should have returned sooner." "You're grounded." (That was a new one for me.) "I'm upset because I was worried about you because I love you." HE LOVED ME!!!! That's the first time I recall hearing him say that. So, though I was being reprimanded I got this warm fuzzy feeling and didn't mind so much. The grounding I hated, and managed to escape from.
When I was 30 I had my first father/daughter bonding experience. He had to come to Vancouver for his wife's surgery, and he stayed with me. Brander was away. I was nervous. Dad and I never spent much time together, and didn't talk much. We didn't know each other. What would I do with him for 2 days?
We went to a restaurant. There was a 30 year old man with his little daughter. Dad was looking at them and smiling...not a "that's cute smile, but a contemplative one. He said "Things are different now than when I was a young dad." I know what he meant.
We went back to my place. I pulled out a music book and played the piano while he played guitar and we sang. You don't know my dad. It was unusual torture to listen to, but I was practically in tears the whole time...happy ones. We were dad and daughter, doing something together.
About 5 years later we went to visit him. Now, my dad is cheap. The kind that doesn't want to go anywhere because it costs money. During this visit he decided to take us out for supper at his expense. And roast dinner yet! During dinner we were talking about parenting mistakes we've heard about, but doing it in a joking manner. My dad got serious and said "Yeah, I made some mistakes too, hey Annette?" I almost spit out my food. Now would have been my chance to get back at him for not being there. For making me feel unloved. For being a person I was afraid of and angry at when I was growing up. But now was not the time. This wasn't the past. I knew what I said would not change the past or make it better. It would only shape the future. So, I smiled and said "Well, you did tell us to 'dummy up' a few times." I couldn't totally lie, but I also couldn't bring myself to talk about the physical and emotional injustices I feel were done to me and my family.
A short while later I reconnected with a girl I knew. She was now 19, and was reliving her childhood complaints about her father. She wanted to confront him with all the injustices done to her, and make him cringe. She wanted him to pay. In my anger I understood. But I counselled her that she can't change the past, only the future. She might feel good that she has caused him to "have a reckoning" but that satisfaction would be short lived.

If you've been physically/sexually/emotionally abused (or if the abuse is still continuing) and this angers you, I'm sorry. I can't speak about something I haven't lived. I can't tell you not to confront. If you've been raped, there needs to be punishment. Yes, for what was done to you, but also to hopefully stop (or delay) it happening to someone else. Forgive me if I offend.

My story is like many of yours, I know. And we all have a choice. We won't all make the same one. I can't speak for what's right for you. Only what's right for me.

Well, it's out there. This isn't easy to do. It's like being on a ledge and afraid of heights. I like revealing only what I want people to see (that's a topic for another post), and this isn't one of those things. But it's been nagging me, so here it is. I better shut up now.

Not too long ago I went to see The Village. Out of the 3 other I've talked to who have seen this movie, I'm the only one who really liked it. So, bear with me during this post, while I express my movie viewpoint. If you're planning to see it, you may not want to read this, as it will spoil the movie for you.
It was billed as something of a (psycholical) thriller. I had asked "Is this a horror?" on the way into the theatre. The answer was, "Well, bad things jump out at you." I thought "Great. The Sixth Sense grossed me out with its gruesome scenes. Now I'm going to cover my eyes during the movie and make a fool of myself."
The setting was rural Pennsylvania, approximately 100 years ago. The village was self-supporting and the people never left. They couldn't because the surrounding woods were populated by "those we don't speak of". They were beasts that were waiting for the people to enter the woods, where the people would be ravaged. They hadn't been sighted in a long time, but there were those who remembered sightings. The council of adults. "Those we don't speak of" were enticed by the color red, so everything red was destroyed, including flowers. Annual sacrifice was made to the creatures to appease them. The fear of the unseen and unknown gripped them so tightly that they were victims to the fear. One young man chose not to give in to the fear, and asked to go beyond the woods to get medicine that would help some of the villagers. Suddenly "signs" of "those we don't speak of" began to appear. Animals were maimed. There were "sightings".
In an act of jealousy, a mentally challenged young man stabbed the one who was asking permission to go get medicine, which would help him. I'll go back to this one in a minute.
During the course of the movie we find out that the creatures aren't real. They were made up by the village founders in order to keep the village isolated. It was the 21st century. The council of elders were originally a support group (like AA) for victims of violence. They had all experienced family members being brutally slain and this village cut off from society was their way of escaping the evil around them.
When addressing the stabbing with the council, the founder said "That which we have sought to escape has happened among us."
Do you see the irony? They sought to create a utopia, building it on a foundation of lies. They sought to escape evil, but brought it with them. They created fear in order to "protect" their children (many now young adults) from being afraid of being violated "in the towns". But they, in doing so, violated their children with their untruths. Though they removed themself from all outside influence and malice, it was still present in their village. It was intrinsic.

What have you tried to escape from? What lies do you have to tell to create an alternate reality? Who do you deceive? Others...or yourself?

"Mensa was founded in England in 1946 by Roland Berrill, a barrister, and Dr. Lance Ware, a scientist and lawyer. They had the idea of forming a society for bright people, the only qualification for membership of which was a high IQ. The original aims were, as they are today, to create a society that is non-political and free from all racial or religious distinctions. The society welcomes people from every walk of life whose IQ is in the top 2% of the population..."
"Mensans have a joke: the bottom two percent are called Densans." Want to know where you fit on the densa scale? Try the quiz.
http://www.pressanykey.com/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/pak/jquiz.cgi
http://www.pressanykey.com/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/pak/funstuffmenu.cgi?target=Densa+Quiz

I talked about Matthew and his intuition in the previous blog. Here's a story.
After reading Scott's comment in the speedo article (for which I still curse him daily), I couldn't settle on an appropriate pair of shorts to go bike riding with Matthew in. BIKE RIDING for goodness sake!!! So, I put on a sad pair of loose shorts that are 15 years old. I looked in the mirror before leaving and frowned, because I don't like them. Matthew said "Mom, I LOVE your shorts!" I laughed and said that was because they had flowers, and he said it was because they're like a pair of his. I told him I wasn't sure that they were very good but he insisted they were. My 6 year old is a fashion critic by the way. Recently he and I were going out together and Iasked his opinion between two shirts. If course, I vetoed his choice anyways, because I am woman.
I got side tracked. Off we went for the bike ride.
Partway through Matthew had to stop to go to the bathroom at said speedo writer's house. I waited outside and Scott escorted him to the door. As we rode down the street Matthew said "Don't feel bad mom, you look good." I laughed (again) nervously and said "What are you talking about?" He said in an emphatic voice "I'm talking about your beauty mom. You look good." I asked him what made him think I was concerned and he said "I saw you touch your shorts." Is that freaky or what?
He'll make an awesome husband one day. Supportive, caring, and he LOVES shiny jewelry. His wife will have a big rock on her finger (if that kind of thing matters). Or maybe it will be Matthew with the big rock and the gold chains.

Yep, I got what I needed.

Brander and I always wanted a girl. Whenever we talked about our "perfect family" it was always 2 girls...redheads. Dark hair like Brander's would have been good too. Brander said we would train them to bark and bite as watchdogs. That confirmed the hunch that he wasn't serious about having children yet.
When we made the choice to expand our family, a girl was always on our mind. There would never be any question about it. God chose, however, to give us a boy. I remember when we got the call for Matthew, I phoned a friend of mine and said "It's a boy. You wanted a girl and have a boy. Is it okay?" She reassured me. What would I do with a boy? I wanted a mini-me. Someone to sew pretty dresses for and to teach the feminine wiles to.
In retrospect I didn't need a girl to do fu-fu things with. I needed a crazy, comical boy to teach me the vibrancy of liberation and laughter. To free my spirit. A boy who loves others deeply and who is freakishly intuitive at times.
God didn't give me what I wanted. He gave me what I needed.
We remind Matthew frequently of his name's definition. For years I whispered it at night when I would check on him.
"Matthew - God's gift." What more could we ask for?

How about your life? Do you have what you want...or what you need. We can't always see it when we're in the trenches - the reason or the benefit.

Do one brave thing a day

It is well documented that for every minute you exercise, you add a minute to your life. This enables you, at 85 years of age, to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $5000 per month!

Some say flying in dreams has some sort of spiritual significance. Not the one you're about to read.
From the age of 6-10 we lived in a 3 story house. The stairway leading from the main floor to the upstairs had a few steps at the bottom, with a landing partway up. At the landing the stairs changed on a 90 degree right angle. Got the picture? Hang onto that one.
I still have vivid recollection (filled with emotion) of a dream I had when I was 9. I could fly. I was flying down the hallway between the bedrooms, towards the stairs. I felt the breeze on my clothes and hair as I began down the stairs, so aware that I was floating over them without touching. I gained speed and approached the landing.......where I violently smacked into the wall because I couldn't make the corner. Ouch!!!!
After that time I had another dream that I was being chased by a monster. There was a serious of closed doors in my way. Over these doors were old-fashioned windows, slightly open. I flew under one door, escaping the nip of the monster. He came behind me. I flew over the next, through the open window. Sadly, I couldn't make it through the crack in the next door frame and the monster got me.
I've had all kinds of these dreams all my life. Sometimes I'm not flying. But there are always monsters. Sometimes the monsters are people. Sometimes they're carrying machine guns. Does anyone want to psychoanalyze that?

We've all done things wrong. Made mistakes. Hurt ourselves by our actions and more importantly hurt others by either action or inaction. We long for the undoing of these events. We crave for a life we had before them...or our perception of what we had, no matter how skewed and ideal we may have made that memory. We become people who live in the past and second guess our actions of the past. Did we say the right thing? The wrong thing? What could we have done differently to make this all a shadow...an unreality?
I've done things which embarrass me. Still do. I cringe at things I say. Public errors or indiscretions ooze out of me, and I stand wincing, hoping the impact will be minimal. Are there many of us who don't have these feelings?
I've done things which plague my mind over and over. Things from years ago. Things I've had to apologize for, have been forgiven, yet still rise to haunt me..to surprise me once again with their accusations. I berate myself for my foolishness - my humanity.
Christ has forgiven since the beginning of time. Or, at least since my salvation. There is nothing to surprise Him. It's all old news. To me it's old news too, but it rears it's ugly, twisted, maimed head to accuse me once more. To bring me guilt.

"There is therefore no condemnation"....but from myself.

It's a struggle we face. It sucks and it's sick. Sometimes we win the struggle for a season. We should be winning the war and putting it to rest. I hope for healing for me...and you.

Having a bad day?

Slow me down Lord
Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind
Steady my hurried pace
With the vision of your eternal grace in time
Slow me down.

"Can I have dessert now, mom?"
"No, son, it's not time yet. Wait."
3 minutes later, "Is it time for dessert yet mom?"
"No, son, and the next time you ask there will be no dessert at all."
Son comes over to mom 5 minutes later, smiling."Mom..."
"Son, you had better think about what you're going to say next."
Son contemplates for a moment then leans against mom. "I just wanted to give you a hug."
Sometimes kids are smooth.

How much is this like me with God? I have had phases in life where I've been upset that something isn't happening the way I want. Or I'm expecting some trouble at work, don't want to work, want another child. I used to think about the situation constantly, imagining the ending that I so desired. It's hard not knowing the ending, and if it will be opposite to what I so want and "deserve". After all, I don't ask for much in life, so why can't the few things I crave be mine? Somehow I felt that if I obsessed about the situation, prayed about it constantly, told God how small of a thing it was compared to many others but how big it was to me then...I would get dessert right away. If He knew how serious this was to me then surely it would swing my way. Once in a while I need to revisit this lesson, but thankfully it's not like it was. Sometimes I really do only want a hug.

I'll be away from blogging for a few days. That's okay, because I'm already not knowing what to write next!

Street church was an experience this week. It was a time where more relationships were formed, people's physical needs were provided for, and it still had it's weird moments relationally. It was less "church" and more "street ministry". Not everyone is comfortable with the raw component of street ministry, including myself. But in my akwardness the other night I was reminded of the song we sing at church. Pardon if some of the words are wrong.

Tired of being clean, sick of being proper
Wanna live among the beggars and dig out in the dirt
Step outside the walls of buildings to protect us
Don't be afraid to get some mud on your face

Come on come on everybody
Come on come on and serve someone

Let's get dirty, let's get used
No matter where you come from, if you're beaten up or bruised
Let's get foolish, let's get free
Free to be the one thing that you were meant to be
Let's get dirty

Easy to sing, hard to live.

Brander is now blogging. Read his posts here .

There are those whom, in the formation of friendship seek to control by giving their love. I have been guilty. Sometimes I think it is about the other person so much, but in the intensity it is clouded that it is really about me. I want to be significant because I love them. I want to do or show something that makes them realize how dedicated I am that I then become the most important person in their circle. I want to control my vulnerability by my obsession. Control the fear of lack of acceptance. Sometimes it becomes easy to shut down when the fear comes. To want to back off because the unknown is too scary to deal with. It's too uncertain. Will I be rejected? Will this not be what the other person wants or needs? Am I ready to be burned again if this blows up?
To love unselfishly is a gift that not many of us have fully realized. To give with no promise of reciprocation. This kind of love in a relationship is perhaps a rare find, shared with few in those special moments in our existence here. I can't bear the weight of this kind of love too often in my life, for its intensity is consuming. Every time it takes a part of me during the process of "acquainting", and yet at the same time it gives life to me. It can't be ignored when it comes, because despite the pain the gift is life-changing.
True love has no expectations.

I made previous mention that I would write more about last week's ordination ceremony once I was able to process it all. Well, so much happened during that ceremony that there is no way to make it happen. I do want to write about one aspect of that ceremony though - the naming.
In traditional Native culture, names are given to people at different times in their lives. In Haida culture a name is given at birth. Then years later, a name is given which describes the attributes of the person and places him as part of the clan. Names cannot be selected by any willing person; only those with authority can do this. It is an amazing honour to receive, especially for those who are not from within the "clan". Jim White, a Haida hereditary chief is one such person who is able to grant names. Last week during the ceremony Jim pronounced upon Brander the name of Standing Bear. He sees Brander standing in gatherings, calm and strong. Watching the people, and standing in the gap for them. This was perhaps the most significant public portion of the whole day, for this action spoke much culturally and spiritually. I don't claim to have a full understanding of it's import, but was able to see its significance by Brander's response. He is still overwhelmed, trying to sort out the emotions over the event.

Scott has posted photos from the ordination at http://newheights.fotopages.com/

True bravery is arriving home late after a boy's night out, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and still having the guts to ask:
Are you cleaning, or were you flying somewhere ?

Do you ever feel that you can't deal with anyone or anything? I do. Today feels that way a bit. Sometimes I get tired of the need to BE something. Someone's mom, someone's sister, someone's friend, someone's wife. I don't want to have to fill what I think is the responsibility of those roles. Just give me a break.
One time when I was lonely and lost I went to a friend's house party. Didn't know anyone except him and his roomates. Bad place to be when feeling insecure. I needed something to surround me...something certain and "impenetrable". I soon found myself upstairs in a closet. No one would ever find me there. It was safe.
I sat on the floor of the closet, pricked by fallen hangers, crunching on discarded term papers, poked by belt buckles, trying not to smell the shoe odour. I didn't care too much though, because the environment matched my mood. Soon my solace was disturbed when I heard the guys going to bed. I was frozen in the closet, not wanting to even breathe. I couldn't pop out of the closet, especially not knowing how unclothed I might find them. I crouched in the closet almost another 2 hours, until I was certain they had fallen asleep. As I crept out in the darkness, one of the them stirred and asked the other "what was that noise?" Seeing my stealthing shape, the other had figured out what was going on and reached out to push my head down. "Santa and his reindeer on the roof. Go back to sleep." I sat for another 5 minutes until I knew I could make a sure getaway.
I thought I was alone in this need to be in a space so tight that nothing could penetrate it. Much later I embarrassingly recounted this story to a girlfriend of mine, who confessed that once she had that very same feeling and curled up in her daughter's crib.
If you don't know what I'm talking about then this will seem stupid. If you can identify with this, know that you are not alone. What I have learned now that I didn't know then, is to take Jesus into the closet with me. It hurts too much to be in there alone. Let His arms enfold me and be my strength. Not bitch to Him about how crappy things are for me, but let Him love me. Hard to do when we don't want to be loved...and yet we so desperately need to be.

"I run to you, God; I run for dear life. Don't let me down! Take me seriously this time! Get down on my level and listen, and please - no procrastination! Your granite cave a hiding place, your high cliff aerie a place of safety.
I hate all this silly religion, but you, God, I trust. I'm leaping and singing in the circle of your love; you saw my pain, you disarmed my tormentors. You didn't leave me in their clutches but gave me enough room to breathe.
Be kind to me, God - I'm in deep, deep trouble again. I've cried my eyes out; I feel hollow inside. My life leaks away, groan by groan; my years fade out in sighs.
Desperate, I throw myself on you: you are my God! Hour by hour I place my days in your hand, safe from the hands out to get me. Warm me, your servant, with a smile; save me because you love me.
Don't embarrass me by not showing up, I've given you plenty of notice."
(segments of Psalms 31; The Message Bible)

"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you." (Matthew 5:1-4)

I've been reading Susy's blog, and have noted a stylistic difference between hers and mine. She is "young" and writes about what is currently happening in her life. I am "older", and mine contains memories. I'm okay with that, and you'll have to deal with it. So, here we go with today's memory trigger.
My sister and I went to lunch today, dining on the patio. I can't believe how much I ate!!! It made up for the last several days of being hungry and consuming painfully little food. I had roast beef, salad, raw veggies, mashed potatoes, one quarter of a Belgian waffle, and finished with a single serving box of Frosted Flakes. Actually, after the Frosted Flakes I had a bite of my sister's Rice Krispie square. But what I wanted to talk about was the cereal.
When I was about 9 years old I remember seeing those individual cereals on a store/restaurant shelf. One day while the family was traveling I was fortunate enough to be allowed to order one. Two things about it were so cool. The cereal was always junkier than what I was allowed to eat at home, and it was totally awesome that I could pour the milk straight into the box and eat from it! Life didn't get much more exotic than that moment in time. When I saw the boxes of cereal today I just had to have one! Disappointment set in though when I went to open it and saw that there are no longer perforations on the front of the box to open it up for using as a bowl. Kellogs expected me to be satisfied with pouring it into a real bowl to eat...where would the fun be in that? My sister and I explained to the server that for emotional reasons it was important that I be able to eat out of the box. The server came back with a knife. Well, that didn't work, so we sent her away to get us some scissors. We were on a mission. 5 minutes later I was in my glory, reliving my childhood, grinning and proclaiming "Isn't it the best to eat junky cereal out of a box?" That was a happy moment.
After I finished I was spent. I leaned back in the chair, hung my legs over the arm of it, slipped on my shades and kicked back in the sun. I may not be welcome back there again.

Today a group of us gathered at Cascade Falls for Brander's ordination. I'll write about it another day, once I've sifted through everything in my brain and can condense 2 hours into two paragraphs. For now I wanted to share this amazing picture from the water ceremony part of the day. In this ceremony Brander immersed himself in the water 4 times, with an elder brushing him with cedar boughs each time. This was very moving for Brander and seemingly for the elder as well. Some of us watched in prayer, witnessing Brander communing with God. It reminded me of our surrender to God and his renewal of our lives. He redeems the unredeemable. He makes good the mistakes in our lives. Read the words from an old song of Brander's and look at the expression on his face. It's an amazing God moment.