Sunday, March 16, 2008
It was disheartening a couple months ago when we were broken into at Bad Dog, but we injected humour into the day. We found out later that following morning that the only suspect was a woman we had been serving as part of the Red Card program, whereby people could purchase meal vouchers at a minimal price, and we provide the food for less than full retail price. She was outside the restaurant at 4:30am, when Lori arrived, telling Lori that she saw who did it and had given the police her statement. Little did we know at that time, that it was her who did it.
One of the conditions of the woman's release was that she couldn't come within a certain distance of our restaurant. It seems appropriate, and for the most part she has complied. I think I have seen her dart in once or twice to say hi to someone within, but maybe that's a woman who looks like her (or maybe it is her).
This woman cost us some momentum, some sleep, some belief that the people who we serve in the Red Card program are decent people down on their luck. Plus, it cost $700 to replace the window, and the floor and a table still bear some gouges from the falling glass. I'm not at the restaurant every day serving, so for those who are it probably "sticks in their craw" more than me. I didn't have any relationship or conversation with this woman before or after the incident.
I have seen her in the street. I walk by, and on occasion have thought to speak to her about the situation and remind her not to mess with us again. That's the fighter Annette, the one that is usually only an inside voice, but sometimes does come out. I want to protect my stuff and my friends that work at the Dog. Plus, sometimes I get afraid.
But I don't confront and I don't say anything and I don't look at her for long. I wonder what kind of grace I should bestow to her, an addict who steals and hooks for her fix. I wonder what kind of grace Jesus wants me to bestow. Surely just enough not to be mean, but not too much that I invite her in again. That's where I settle, because that's the best I can come up with. Is it because that's what Jesus is saying to me, as far as I will listen, or because I'm too passive aggressive to really do anything either way?
I have thought of something to say to a person who I have perceived to be a threat to me and those around me, from whom I have felt betrayal and lies, and have been surprised with the heartbeat and heat in my chest as the words have leapt almost uncontrollably into my head. Fighter Annette. I don't like those thoughts. Yet, when I face the person, those words and sentiments don't come out. I say a quiet hello, and wonder what Jesus would expect of me. Sometimes I feel dishonest that I don't portray the real thoughts and feelings, and wonder if I'm being passive aggressive again. Is that what it is, or is it that I keep telling myself that there is a story behind everyone, even if it is a twisted story? Am I chicken, or am I extending ... grace? Sometimes how do I really know where each line blurs into the other?
Last week I heard a song I hadn't listened to for a while. It strikes me in my sinner's heart when I hear it, and I am thankful that Jesus has given me that which I must be prodded to give others. I've blogged the lyrics before, but I like them alot.
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 ramp or 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 hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings
Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things
Grace finds beauty
In everything
Grace finds goodness
In everything
I have so far to go.
One of the conditions of the woman's release was that she couldn't come within a certain distance of our restaurant. It seems appropriate, and for the most part she has complied. I think I have seen her dart in once or twice to say hi to someone within, but maybe that's a woman who looks like her (or maybe it is her).
This woman cost us some momentum, some sleep, some belief that the people who we serve in the Red Card program are decent people down on their luck. Plus, it cost $700 to replace the window, and the floor and a table still bear some gouges from the falling glass. I'm not at the restaurant every day serving, so for those who are it probably "sticks in their craw" more than me. I didn't have any relationship or conversation with this woman before or after the incident.
I have seen her in the street. I walk by, and on occasion have thought to speak to her about the situation and remind her not to mess with us again. That's the fighter Annette, the one that is usually only an inside voice, but sometimes does come out. I want to protect my stuff and my friends that work at the Dog. Plus, sometimes I get afraid.
But I don't confront and I don't say anything and I don't look at her for long. I wonder what kind of grace I should bestow to her, an addict who steals and hooks for her fix. I wonder what kind of grace Jesus wants me to bestow. Surely just enough not to be mean, but not too much that I invite her in again. That's where I settle, because that's the best I can come up with. Is it because that's what Jesus is saying to me, as far as I will listen, or because I'm too passive aggressive to really do anything either way?
I have thought of something to say to a person who I have perceived to be a threat to me and those around me, from whom I have felt betrayal and lies, and have been surprised with the heartbeat and heat in my chest as the words have leapt almost uncontrollably into my head. Fighter Annette. I don't like those thoughts. Yet, when I face the person, those words and sentiments don't come out. I say a quiet hello, and wonder what Jesus would expect of me. Sometimes I feel dishonest that I don't portray the real thoughts and feelings, and wonder if I'm being passive aggressive again. Is that what it is, or is it that I keep telling myself that there is a story behind everyone, even if it is a twisted story? Am I chicken, or am I extending ... grace? Sometimes how do I really know where each line blurs into the other?
Last week I heard a song I hadn't listened to for a while. It strikes me in my sinner's heart when I hear it, and I am thankful that Jesus has given me that which I must be prodded to give others. I've blogged the lyrics before, but I like them alot.
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 ramp or 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 hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings
Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things
Grace finds beauty
In everything
Grace finds goodness
In everything
I have so far to go.
Labels: grace
Friday, March 14, 2008
What to Do?
I'm home from the restaurant early to be with Matthew (well, he is in bed actually). I don't like being home waiting for Scott and have a hard time sleeping when he is out, so I won't try unless it becomes really late. But what do I do? My mind turns to the inevitable...maybe I should read a book. Since I'm so experienced at it now, I could probably finish one in the next couple of hours. But I've finished that National Geographic book, so what is there. Hey, I know. I haven't started reading a daily calendar that I got in December. Text, a spine...like the Dilbert book! It wouldn't be right to finish it in one night, but I could get in a couple of chapters.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Just call me a bookworm
When I was 10 I used to read Nancy Drew and the Hardy boys while walking to school. Actually, Nancy Drew was whoosy, so I preferred the Hardy boys. Plus, they were a lot cuter - Nancy Drew's picture on the front of the book looked too plain for me.
When I was 24 I read CS Lewis' The Screwtape Letters while walking to work along a busy TransCanada route. I used to love reading while walking.
For me, reading isn't a sedentary activity. It puts me to sleep. But lately, I have rediscovered it. This past weekend Scott and I went to a local Bed & Breakfast for a day away from responsibility, parenting, work. I'm proud to say I read a book, cover to cover, in that 24 hours. Here it is:
So, as I'm writing this Ben and Scott are saying that it isn't really a book. Let me ask you two questions: 1) Are there words that I read? 2) Is there a spine? Then IT'S A BOOK. I found out about the white bear, in the black bear family, born from two recessive genes creating the light fur colour. I learned that Orca's eat dolphins and that I won't ever go on a Klondike Trail tourist site because I think they're boring. So, I think I learned a lot from my book.
Last month when heading into the bathtub I announced that I was going to read a book, and picked up my Dilbert daily calendar. Since I hadn't read it in 3 months and it has a spine, it qualified. But then I dropped it in the water with 1 month left to read....
When I was 24 I read CS Lewis' The Screwtape Letters while walking to work along a busy TransCanada route. I used to love reading while walking.
For me, reading isn't a sedentary activity. It puts me to sleep. But lately, I have rediscovered it. This past weekend Scott and I went to a local Bed & Breakfast for a day away from responsibility, parenting, work. I'm proud to say I read a book, cover to cover, in that 24 hours. Here it is:
So, as I'm writing this Ben and Scott are saying that it isn't really a book. Let me ask you two questions: 1) Are there words that I read? 2) Is there a spine? Then IT'S A BOOK. I found out about the white bear, in the black bear family, born from two recessive genes creating the light fur colour. I learned that Orca's eat dolphins and that I won't ever go on a Klondike Trail tourist site because I think they're boring. So, I think I learned a lot from my book.
Last month when heading into the bathtub I announced that I was going to read a book, and picked up my Dilbert daily calendar. Since I hadn't read it in 3 months and it has a spine, it qualified. But then I dropped it in the water with 1 month left to read....
Sunday, March 02, 2008
A Good Day
To me, Larry's concerts were always fabulous and moving. His funeral was no less so. That's a weird thing to say about a funeral, because there is so much sadness and longing to have one last time with the person, preferably when they were well. Often people ask funeral attenders "how was it" as they wince at the words because they don't know what else to say. My answer: "amazing".
Larry was ready to go home. His life, greatly used by God, was also fraught with pain and human sorrow. He deeply loved and in some cases deeply lost. He was loved by many and shunned by many others. His years of pain and lingering death from heart problems were close to being over early last week. We heard stories of his violent physical reactions in the last remaining days, and stories of his kindness throughout.
Larry was an idea man and director. He left the family notes of what he would like done at his funeral, which they executed well for him. It was like being at one of his concerts. We saw pictures of him as a baby, boy, man, performer. It was punctuated with his music, which we knew by heart. Over 2 hours of music, stories, pictures. Not one moment of it boring. We laughed, and cried and remembered a life that was full to capacity. Near the end we even did karaoke of one of the songs, as we stood and smiled and clapped to the music. Then, the song "Goodbye" was played to end the day. As Scott said later, they got us laughing and then smacked us in the forehead. The service was all it should be, I thought. I felt that I had experienced Larry's ministry and his concert once again.
Larry knew people would be sad at his passing, because they will miss him. He wanted them to know that he was looking forward to being with God and curious about the journey home. He couldn't erase their sorrow, but he could reassure them and encourage one last celebration.
Thanks Larry for the gig. Thanks to the family for sharing his life with us.
Larry, enjoy the field of flowers as you run to the Father ... Home at last.
Larry was ready to go home. His life, greatly used by God, was also fraught with pain and human sorrow. He deeply loved and in some cases deeply lost. He was loved by many and shunned by many others. His years of pain and lingering death from heart problems were close to being over early last week. We heard stories of his violent physical reactions in the last remaining days, and stories of his kindness throughout.
Larry was an idea man and director. He left the family notes of what he would like done at his funeral, which they executed well for him. It was like being at one of his concerts. We saw pictures of him as a baby, boy, man, performer. It was punctuated with his music, which we knew by heart. Over 2 hours of music, stories, pictures. Not one moment of it boring. We laughed, and cried and remembered a life that was full to capacity. Near the end we even did karaoke of one of the songs, as we stood and smiled and clapped to the music. Then, the song "Goodbye" was played to end the day. As Scott said later, they got us laughing and then smacked us in the forehead. The service was all it should be, I thought. I felt that I had experienced Larry's ministry and his concert once again.
Larry knew people would be sad at his passing, because they will miss him. He wanted them to know that he was looking forward to being with God and curious about the journey home. He couldn't erase their sorrow, but he could reassure them and encourage one last celebration.
Thanks Larry for the gig. Thanks to the family for sharing his life with us.
Larry, enjoy the field of flowers as you run to the Father ... Home at last.