be-musings

Sometimes we all need a role model to learn from. And don't tell us that we CAN'T fly.

Matthew and I went to the lake this afternoon. Halfway to the main beach he announced "I have to go pee" and pulled off to the side. I said "Honey, the outhouse is not far away." "No mom, I can't wait. Can't I just go in the bushes?" Well, I couldn't deny him when he was desperate, so said "okay" and kept a lookout what he faced the brush. Will it ever end????

I won't complain about the hot weather, because I've been waiting for summer to come. The long hours of sunshine, even if the day doesn't take us outside. But I am confused about ceiling fans.
Fan blades are supposed to move one way for winter, to circulate heat, and one way for summer, to remove heat. It's a crap shoot to get it right. Yeah, yeah, clockwise for one season and counter-clockwise for another. But here's the confusing thing.
When I stand facing the fan, I can't tell which way it's turning. Don't laugh, I'm serious. While standing still look at your ceiling fan, if you have one. If you look at the edge closest to you, the blades appear to be going counter-clockwise (for instance). If you then look at the blades farthest away from you, the blades appear to be going clockwise. They don't look the same! I tried standing under the fan to try the experiment, and as long as I did't turn the other direction when looking at the opposite side of the blades, the results were the same. What's a girl to do????!!!
Oh, and don't bother telling me that if the blades slant one particular angle versus another then the fan needs to circulate a certain way in each season. You think if I can't tell which end of the fan to look at to see which direction it's going that I'll remember an even longer formula? I can't be the only one, female or male, in this awful predicament.
While cleaning one of the ceiling fans I noticed a switch that makes it change directions. It wasn't labelled. I figured out what it was. Don't tell me to read the instruction sheet, because it's long gone. Why didn't they label it? It would have been so simple to print "summer" by one side of the switch and "winter" by the other. But nnnnnoooooooooooo.
I'm just lucky I changed my mind about how to handle this dilemna once I saw the switch. Otherwise I would have thought the fan only went one direction, and that I would have to buy another one for the summer months. But I figured it out...I'm not blonde.
I gotta go change directions on the fans. If I change them once a day I'll be right 50% of the time. That's close to a passing grade.

During yesterday's jog at the lake, I came across two shocking sights. As I was coming down the path, a young man and woman were standing at the edge, the man positioned sideways. I quickly realized he was "taking a leak". He didn't stop or reposition, but instead turned his head to watch as I jogged by, eyes straight ahead of me. It's times like this that it sucks to have peripheral vision. As I rounded the slow bend, what did I see happening on the edge of the beach? Another guy shooting with the wind, his back to me. And the outhouse was only 20 feet away! Yuck. What is it with guys and outside peeing?
Mitch, was it you?

I'm getting ready to move. Sorting through belongings, packing those that will be kept, throwing out those that are not really needed or I won't have room for. In emailing a friend about it, she understood the moving experience all too well. She wrote "there is nothing more depressing than seeing your stuff, which just days before seemed perfectly adequate, spread out on the lawn in full daylight. The dust, the dings... sometimes makes me wish I could just put a garage sale sign up and get rid of it all!" Can you identify?
Does this feel like our life when we seem sprawled out on the lawn? Sometimes we feel raw and exposed, sitting in the sun, waiting to be packed up for the next place. Feeling like we're in danger of being discarded totally. Previously we felt lovely and useful, but suddenly our dings and scratches look ugly. We want to cover them up. We may be utilitarian, but we're not pretty. Sometimes we don't even feel like we are useful to anyone.

Hosea put it well:
I'll call nobodies and make them somebodies;
I'll call the unloved and make them beloved.
In the place where they yelled out, "You're nobody!"
they're calling you "God's living children." (Romans 9:25-26)

I'm smiling. Are you?

Here's a trivia tidbit:
A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.




Cool picture, hey?

I've left out people of significance other than Matthew. There are so many that the list would be too long. I'll tag someone privately (hmmmm...who will it be).

1) The summer sunrise over the Fraser River on a foggy day. For many years I’ve wanted to go to the crest of the Mission bridge early in the morning to take a picture of the sun, barely visible through the fog.

2) The hop-run that my son and I do across the crosswalk, ensuring that we only step on the white lines. Now I even do it alone after I’ve dropped him off at school. It symbolizes youth and joy.

3) The incredible, vibrant colours of a sunset. Any and all hues are beautiful. Especially over water, where you can see the colours without interruption.

4) Music that makes the spine move – even jerk in response to the rhythm. The Blues, Santana, Joe Cocker. It goes through like an electric shock and permeates.

5) Laughter, especially when it comes suddenly and intensely. You know the kind…when your side hurts or your cheeks hurt from it.

6) The smile, giggle, laugh of Matthew. His cuddles and when he runs his hand over my hair in affection.

7) Fabric with texture, beading, or other items that differentiate it from other “normal” fabric. Clothes with a different detail, whether subtle or obvious. It appeals to the seamstress in me.

8) The satisfaction and pride in a completed project, when I’m amazed how raw items come together to make a thing of beauty.

9) That moment in corporate worship when God has swallowed me through the music and all I can do is listen to those around me pledge their love for Him through the words and tunes.

10) Lying on a warm sandy beach, the sun’s heat caressing me, the lapping sound of waves washing my cares away.

Over the decades censorship has been hotly, almost bloodily debated, and it still continues in the world of blogs. A while ago I had some thoughts (no really) on the topic along with a good link, but lost it (the thoughts and the link). This week some discussion has ensued on more than one site, so here I go.
Bloggers all have their own purposes for blogging, and many feel that the blog is their personal forum of journalistic freedom. Some give a daily or weekly report of their life's events, others have political commentaries, others travel logs. Some choose to be meak, others controversial. That's all fine. Where it gets tenuous, in my personal opinion, is when we post blogs or record blog comments that are critical of another person or people, even when we haven't mentioned their specific names. Note that I'm using the term "we" instead of "they". On some levels most of us are guilty of this at one time or another, and I for one haven't always been proud of my writing.
Are blogs really personal diaries, or are they more like "captain's logs"? They are not locked up at night with only you and your best friend holding a key. They are highly public, and accessible by people across the world. Total strangers, as well as those whom we write about. Whether reading people's opinions or reading blog protocol proposals, one particular principle comes to mind. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Grace
She takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain
It could be her name

Grace
It's a name for a girl
It's also a thought that
Changed the world

And when she walks on the street
You can hear the strings
Grace finds goodness
In everything

Grace
She's got the walk
Not on a wrapper on chalk
She's got the time to talk

She travels outside
Of karma, karma
She travels outside
Of karma

When she goes to work
You can hear the strings
Grace finds beauty
In everything

Grace
She carries a world on her hips
No champagne flute for her lips
No twirls or skips
Between her fingertips

She carries a pearl
In perfect condition
What once was hers
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stains

Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty
In everything

Grace finds goodness
In everything

An 84-year old man got up and was putting on his coat.

His wife says,"Where are you going?"
He said, "I'm going to the doctor."

And she said, "Are you sick?"

He said, "No I'm going to get me some of those new viagra pills."

So his wife gets out of her rocker and puts on her coat.

He said," Where are you going?"

She said, "I'm going to the doctor too."

He said, "Why?"

She said, "If you're going to start using that rusty old thing, I'm going to
get a tetanus shot."

Not long ago I commented to a friend that I don't have the same sense of history they do. My siblings know we are primarily French and English with some Scottish and Irish thrown in. Unlike some families, there hasn't been much follow up of my mom and dad's geneology, though it has been provided to us.
As I was cleaning out some papers the other day, I came across the lineage mom provided 4 years ago, which also I remembered from a grade 6 school report. The prominent name was Napier, which I always thought was English or French. As I turned to the internet out of curiosity I found that the Napier line is very significant in Scottish history. We won't talk about those who "had issue" according to the internet, or were killed for trangressions. For those who are into history, here's some facts. For those who aren't, skip to the next paragraph. Two names came to the forefront, one of which was James Douglas, also known as the Black Douglas, friend and battle companion of Robert the Bruce. Basically, if you've seen Braveheart it's about part of my family line. For the less testosterone driven, there's also John Napier, a philosopher, writer and scientist who discovered logarithms (the basis of our calculus system). So, last night I had my cheap thrills looking through internet archives.
When I woke Matthew up for his last pee for the night, I was anxious to tell him that I'm related to Scottish kings. He tried to top that by saying he was even better because he's named after someone who hung around with Jesus even before the Scottish kings were born. "I'm named after...you know...one of the apostles." I told him it wasn't a competition (that was a lie) and that through his adoption he shares the same family lineage as me. That's a cue for something I've been pondering for a while but didn't know how to write.
Of his own merit Matthew has no birth rights to my lineage. For example, I've heard that if I visit Scotland I can bring the written lineage and because of the relation stay at the Douglas castle for free. Matthew, if not adopted by me, would never have the same right. But he has been brought into my family line through the choice of adoption, and now shares all my family priviliges. What I have access to, he has access to. He is part of my family tree, with all its embarrassments and all its boasts.
Ephesians 1:5
Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son.
Through our adoption as sons of God, we have access to so much more. It's not ours by our own birthright, but it has been made ours by acceptance into His family. Can you list some things you now have access to?
Who's your daddy?

I never said what we did for this past Mother's Day. The night before Matthew said he wanted to give me breakfast in bed, so I prepared the items for him to bring me. Being 7, he would need some help. It was his idea to cook me eggs and toast all by himself, but the image of him handling the stove all by himself when he is easily distracted was too much for me. So, what's the next best breakfast...Honeycomb! I set out the bed tray with the bowls, spoons, cereal and bread for the toaster. The toast part would be nerve-racking enough. The next morning Matthew let me sleep in and I waited a LONG time for breakfast because he was occupied with a computer game. I could hear him munching on multitudes of Honeycomb, wondering if there would be any left for me. When I almost couldn't wait for breakfast anymore, he came in with the cereal and tray, proud to serve me. That waned a bit thin when I asked him to butter the broken toast that he took out of the plugged-in toaster with a fork (aaahhhhhh!!!!!!). Finally he just brought me the skewered toast and a tub of margarine and I helped myself.
On the way out the door to Flashpoint I gave Matthew $20 from his piggy bank to spend on dinner for me/us. Hint, hint.


After the rock climbing, we agreed on a nice Mexican restaurant where we had a lovely date. Matthew asked the waiter for a water refill for me, and also asked him for the bill at the end of the meal. When he went to the till, he proudly spilled all his toonies and loonies on the counter, and the server watched them spin around. Matthew said "I'm going to get so much change back" as he smiled in anticipation. The ringing of the till ended in $20.83. I kicked in a few bucks, and explained that there was no change coming. He said "Mom, you're going to put money in my piggy bank to pay for this, right?" I said no.
Don't think I'm mean. I'm teaching him how to be selfless. Let me see. A dollar a week for allowance times 20 weeks. So, he spent 38% of his annual income on that dinner. If his adult income was $30,000 per year that would be an $11,400 dinner. I guess I'm worth it.
Hmmm...maybe I'll bump his allowance to $5 for a while but just not tell him.

For those who are too young to remember the Red Letter editions of the Bible, all the words Jesus spoke are typed in red. Hence, this song.

Pages filled with a holy message
Sealed with a kiss from heaven
On a scroll long ago
Phrases, words that were bound together
Now have the power to sever
Like a sword evermore

Heed the words divinely spoken
May your restless heart be broken
Let the supernatural take hold

(chorus)
There is love in the red letters
There is truth in the red letters
There is hope for the hopeless
Peace and forgiveness
There is life in the red letters
In the red letters

One man came to reveal a mystery
Changing the course of history
Made the claim he was God
Ageless, born of a virgin mary
Spoke with a voice that carried through the years
Its persevered

Heed the words divinely spoken
May your restless heart be broken
Let the supernatural take hold

There is love in the red letters
There is truth in the red letters
There is hope for the hopeless
Peace and forgiveness
There is life in the red letters
In the red letters

What you say moves me, revelation, come and take me
The more I look [the more I look] the more I see [the more I see]
The word of God [the word of god] is what I need

Oh yeah, oh yeah
Yeah, its the book of love
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Its the book of love

There is love in the red letters
There is truth in the red letters
There is hope for the hopeless
Peace and forgiveness
There is life in the red letters
In the red letters

Speak to me, breathe in me new life [x2]
Let him in your heart [x4]

Read Instructions first, then view picture

This will also open up spaces between you and the cars around you:
Step 1. Tie these balloons to your car
Step 2. Drive like a bat out of heck ... hitting 130 mph
Step 3. Watch people freak out.
Step 4. Tell the cops you thought they were for real

I was driving home Sunday, windows rolled down, through a construction area. As the light ahead had already turned yellow and was about to become red, I stopped (as it did so). The young man driving behind me didn't seem to agree with my decision, because I heard and saw him frustratedly shout a drawn out swear word. Since I don't swear, I won't write it here (those who know me well are now laughing hysterically because something I said there wasn't true. I won't tell you what it is). Back to the story.
As I waited nervously at the traffic light, frustrated guy behind me, I planned my response. Drive like heck, enough over the speed limit to hopefully stay ahead of him and yet not so fast that I get a ticket. I didn't want him to address me further if he got close enough to drive beside me. As the light turned green I accelerated immediately, and hard. Beat him. I kept checking the rear view mirror until he turned off the highway a few minutes later. Phew. I avoided confrontation. I was able to control my circumstances that time.
Before this experience of road digruntlement I came to face (again) the fact that I need to give some things to God. I realized (again) that there were some circumstances frustrating me and I wanted my way in them. It wasn't right, and I had to let go (again). It's a lesson I've had to yield to many times...at least I'm recognizing a bit sooner than I used to. So, I took a walk with my Bible in my backpack, and prayed. I let go of my desire to control the situation and let go of myself as well.
You know, I may take the control back again. I may have to give it up again. I hope if that's the case that the next time my attempt at possession will be shorter-lived and my surrender more long-term. For now though, I live in the relief of not having to be the one in charge. It's much easier to let Someone else have that job, even when I question His decisions.

Mortals make elaborate plans, but God has the last word.
Humans are satisfied with whatever looks good, God probes for what is good.
We plan the way we want to live, but only God makes us able to live it.(Proverbs 16:1, 2, 9)

I was a self-titled "Miss Priss" as a child. When we moved from Alberta to BC, we moved to a very arid region that in the eye of a 10 year old girl seemed to have only dirt. We played baseball in the dirt, instead of a grassy diamond as I was accustomed to in Cold Lake. We rode bikes with our cousins, which was a new experience. And with so many dirt-filled hills around and no experience, inevitably I fell during every bike ride that first summer, and pushed my bike home while crying. I still remember the pain of skinned flesh. Oh come on...you can feel it too.
So, it is with this background that, many years later I became a mother. When Matthew arrived he was 8 months old, sleeping through the night, eating mush, keeping all his food in his stomach, and newly crawling. Rarely was he ever sick with the flu. Well, okay, when he was just under 1 year old he was throwing up fluid alot one morning. Instead of changing the sheets every 30 minutes in the wee hours, I just kept repositioning him in the crib so that he was on a dry spot. How much could a little baby move around anyway? Now don't criticize - I'm sure all you parents have done something weird like that!
One day when Matthew was about 2 years old he was feeling sick. While I was tending him he sat on the edge of his bed, and within 2 seconds he began to hurl. This was a defining moment for me. It was a test of my response and my brilliance as a mom. As the chunky stuff reached the top of his throat I thought "Not on the carpet!!!!" and as the vomit left his body I instinctively cupped my hands under his bent head...in order to catch the puke. As the warm refuse filled my hands I wondered what I had done and bemoaned how far I had suddenly come from Miss Priss. I ran to the bathroom to clean my hands and then cleaned up my little boy.
Oh, parenthood. How we change in the twinkling of an eye...or the reflex of a child's gag.

Wilsonian first posted this Paul Brandt/Casey Scott song in the fall. Amazing lyrics.

Cry if you want to
I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me

There's no use in keeping a stiff upper lip
You can weep you can sleep you can loosen your grip
You can frown you can drown and go down with the ship
You can cry if you want you

Don't ever apologize venting your pain
It's something to me you don't need to explain
I don't need to know why I don't think it's insane
You can cry if you want to

The windows are closed the neighbors aren't home
If it's better with me then to do it alone
I'll draw all the curtains and unplug the phone
You can cry if you want to

You can stare at the ceiling tear at your hair
Swallow your feelings and stagger and swear
You can show things and throw things and I wouldn't care
You can cry if you want to

No I won't make fun of you I won't tell anyone
I won't analyze what you do or you should have done
I won't advise you to go and have fun
You can cry if you want to

when it's empty and ugly and terribly sad
I can't feel what you feel but I know it feels bad
I know that it's real and it makes you so mad
You can cry

Cry if you want to
I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me to be near you

Me on a bad day

The last couple of posts and probably a couple more yet have been and will be quite serious. I'm remembering a few years ago, coming home to a voicemail message from a friend who had just overdosed on prescription drugs. I remember being shocked that she would she call me at such a crucial and intimate time, then thinking "Oh crap...it's been an hour since she called!" I wondered if she was dead or alive, and called her husband, making arrangements to bring him to the hospital where she had been transported.
At a moment of weakness her pain seemed too much too bear. I remember the hospital conversation we had when we walked and cried together. She told me she just wanted to be numb...to have the pain go away. I asked her if she knew that the method she chose may have meant never being able to feel anything again. That it would mean death. She said that's probably what she wanted to happen. Such sorrow and hopelessness.
Unfortunately that wasn't the only overdose bedside I have attended. For those who have done this kind of thing there are many ways of explaining their thought process. Lack of pain. Freedom from unavoidable problems. Mourning loss of love. They believe they won't be missed.
Many of us need a reason to live. That reason may include friends, work, God, family, love, commitment. Perhaps all of them. Recently I overheard a conversation with a person in this situation. "You need to figure out the reason to live. What in this life is meaningful to you." Reminds me of City Slickers. Yet it goes deeper than that. You can enjoy life or choose to live for your spouse, children, of family. That's something I've held onto in a dark moment. What happens if that is taken away? If that part of your life falls through? You can live for fulfillment on your job. What happens if you're downsized or disabled and can't work on that job anymore? For each of us the answer is personal. I thought about it that day, and my answer is a simple one.
I love life. The essence of every breath, every movement, and every moment. The simplicity and yet the grandeur of it all. That's me. God will give you your own unique answer.

I have felt the wind blow, whispering your name
I have seen your tears fall, when I watch the rain

How can I say there is no God
When all around creation calls
A singing bird, a mighty tree
The vast expanse of open sea

Gazing at a bird in flight, soaring through the air
Lying down beneath the stars, I feel your presence there

I love to stand at ocean's shore
And feel the thundering breakers roar
To walk through golden fields of grain
'Neath endless blue horizon's frame

Listening to a river run, watering the earth
Fragrance of a rose in bloom, a newborn's cry at birth

How could I say there is no God
When all around creation calls
A singing bird, a mighty tree
The vast expanse of open sea
I love to stand at ocean's shore
And feel the thundering breakers roar
To walk through golden fields of grain
'Neath endless blue horizon's frame
I believe, I believe, I believe

©1994 Mercy / Vineyard Publishing
Words and Music by Brian Doerksen

by Larry Norman
Maybe your father didn’t love you like he should
Maybe your mother just held on the best she could
Everyone has a secret give it away or keep it
You got to try and let it go

You carried the weight; the weight of the world
It’s breaking you down on your back like a boulder
Before it’s too late get rid of it girl
Get it off of your shoulder
You’ve been abused but you can lose
The weight of the world

It all comes down to who you crucify
You either kiss the future or the past goodbye
God can help you fly

You carried the weight the weight of the world
It’s breaking you down on your back like a boulder
Before it’s too late get rid of it girl
Get it off of your shoulder
You’ve been abused but you can lose
The weight of the world


I love you.

This song was playing amongst some others over lunch. Matthew said "Mom, what does it say?" So I paraphrased the chorus, which was the only part I had ever paid attention to. My summary for the 7 year old brain was "Why should we want to enjoy life?" Your paraphrase might be different, but it worked for the moment. Matthew asked "Why mom?" I waited a moment, then he answered his own question. "Is it because God made us and we should be happy that he did?" Too profound for me to add to, I said "That's absolutely right Matthew." Sometimes I can take lessons from him in his simplicity of belief and the gospel.

You come into the threshold of another starless night of fear
You're running from the demons that would drag you down again
Illusions of the world are spinning out of time and frame and synchronicity
You're so sad
You're such a sad eyed girl
You're so sad in your sub-plot

CHORUS:
What is this, what is this, this mess of my existence is
All these politics of life and death and relevance
It's my existence

Another morning it comes running up your bedpost with the wind
You face yourself just like you always do, time and time again
The mortal coil of image, inner peace and satisfaction
And so you keep it on the down-low
Hiding all the secrets that are down below
And so you keep it on the down-low
Tell me baby was it worth it all

CHORUS

Oh just take it all, make it work and make some sense
Just take it all
You're my existence
You're my existence

(by Kevin Max)