When We End Up in the Ditch (or other unfortunate places)

We were in Winnipeg last night at a gathering of friends – some friends from our current life and some from a previous life. There was lots of catching up, lots of laughs, lots of good food. It was a good time.

During the course of the conversation, a story was told of farm hand who had tipped his loaded harvest-hauling truck into a deep ditch. The worker had managed to crawl out of the truck unharmed and walked back to the farm, but didn't tell anyone about his mishap until the end of the day.

Another person commented that that probably wasn't a mistake that worker was liable to make twice. And then he went on to tell another similar story, but in this one, the worker who had dumped the truck had asked his boss if he was going to fire him.

“Fire you? Are you kidding? I just spent $30 000 on your education! Do you think I'm going to fire you now and let someone else benefit from that education? Not a chance!”

That sounds to me like the grace of God.

We (the royal “we”, meaning I) mess up royally and God chalks it up to education, not an opportunity to cut us off from his love. That is wild, humbling grace. Not only that, we don't even have to show up in front of the boss by our dirty, messy selves. We have an advocate who will speak on our behalf.

We might even become better drivers of our lives with grace-filled second chances like this.  And hopefully more gracious to our fellow truck-drivers when they end up in awkward circumstances.

And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations,

knowing that tribulation produces perseverance;

and perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Now hope does not disappoint,

because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts

by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Romans 5:3 – 5 (NKJV)

But if anyone does sin,

we have an advocate with the Father – Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.

1 John 2:2 (NIV)

other unfortunate places

Feeding the Soul

I went for a little hike on Sunday. By myself. No one else wanted to come along.

The pleasant days of autumn are numbered and I haven't been taking advantage of them as I would like, but Sunday was the day to get outside. I wanted to go hiking in the hills. Where we live is completely flat and no matter which way I walk down the road, I am always in sight of the neighbours. While we have fine neighbours, when I go walking I like to feel like I'm the only person in the world.

So, I set out to find a small road in the hills that I could walk along and feel like I was alone. There's a little lake not far from where we live, maybe 3 miles away, that I figured would be a suitable destination. The only problem is I can only find that lake when I'm not looking for it. I cannot for the life of me choose the right road to take to get there. I always go too far down one road because the turn-off to get to the lake happens sooner (I think) than I think it ought to which leads me to another fork in the road where I inevitably choose the left, doubt myself, turn around and go back and choose the right, which still turns out to be the wrong choice because I'm on the wrong road anyway.

Needless to say, I didn't make it to the lake. However, as I was driving down the wrong road, I came across what appeared to be an interesting field road. I parked my vehicle, grabbed my camera and started walking.

It was perfect. It was a windy, twisty road that went up hills and down valleys, around corners and through muskegs. There was not a house in sight. The air was filled with the fragrances of autumn: distant smoke from stubble fires, fallen brown oak leaves, cool moist air of a pond, the pungent scent of rotting berries and the last vestiges of prairie grasses. I could only hear my footsteps and the occasional gurgling of water.

It was a walk that fed my soul.

Recently, it has seemed that I have as hard a time “finding time” to feed my soul as I do finding Jackson's Lake. Of course, they say that you always find time for the things that are important to you.

Perhaps I need to set aside my expectations that I'll make it to the lake, or to that silent retreat weekend, or whatever, and instead keep my eyes open for the interesting side roads that pop up along the way, for smaller, less glamorous but more frequent, ways to feel my soul. Because really, there are not many more important things than that.

What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world

yet forfeit their soul?

Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?

Matthew 16:26

A Thousand More Wishes...

There was great jubilation and singing one morning this week at our house. The lost had been found, the prodigal had returned home!

My daughter came bounding down the stairs early one morning, shouting, “Mama! I found Bunna!”

This was indeed cause for great celebration! Bunna is one of those little baby blanket things with a head attached. Bunna started out as a fluffy pink bunny/blanket but has been reduced, or perhaps elevated, to a rather dull, flat, greyish pink, having been loved and hugged for seven full years. My daughter received this as a Christmas gift after being alive for less than 3 months and it has been her favorite ever since. This is the toy whose periodic absence has made bedtime a tearful, stressful event over the years.

At the tail end of summer, the last day we saw Bunna, we had a family over for a campfire. My daughter was thrilled to be interacting with the benevolent teenage girls who were over. She was stuffing Bunna in their hoods and carting her around when they were playing bocce and hide-and-go-seek in the dark.

That night at bedtime, we discovered that Bunna was not to be found. It was late and my daughter was exhausted so we were able to postpone the full scale hunt until the next day. We turned her room upside down. We looked in every nook and cranny we could think of in the house. We searched outside in the trees, around the firepit, in the shop and shed and cat house. Bunna was nowhere. As a last resort, I called our visitors to see if Bunna went home in one of their hoods. She did not.

Hope began to wane of ever finding Bunna. This was a sad thing – both for my daughter and for me. Bunna was the token from my daughter's childhood that I had planned on saving if she didn't.

Two months went by with no sign of Bunna despite periodic checks of places we might have missed.

And then one day this week, she was back in bed when my daughter awoke, like she had never been missing!

I knew nothing about this. I thought initially that perhaps Bunna had been tucked inside the edge of the bedsheet like a forlorn sock and had finally worked herself out. I dismissed that thought right away, because I had washed her sheets in the last two months. Hadn't I? I had a brief moment of panic over the lack of a clear, specific memory of doing the laundry. I suggested maybe Dad knew something about Bunna's surprise reappearance. My daughter dutifully went and asked.

“Dad said he didn't know but said maybe she was just away on a vacation and came back!” she reported moments later. “Maybe Bunna is magic!”

Magical, indeed!

Later that evening, my husband told me where he had accidentally found Bunna.

“Then why did you tell her you didn't know anything about it?” I asked, perhaps slightly accusingly.

I am a stickler for proper grammar and honesty. I like to think that time and maturity have sanded away a few of the rougher edges, but my penchant for truth-telling has sometimes in the past made me blunt, maybe rude, probably less than kind. It's taking me awhile to accept that not all truth needs to be disclosed, at least not immediately.

My husband, on the other hand, is more open to unanswered questions, mystery and magic. And that's what he gave my daughter that morning.

The next morning, perhaps feeling reprimanded by my question, he did tell my daughter that he had in fact found Bunna in the house, but he wouldn't tell her where. This turned out to be upsetting to her and I had to bite my tongue to not ask, “Now why did you go and tell her the truth?”

It got me thinking about many of life's big unanswered questions. So often, we want to know why? where? when? how? why me? why not me? And the answers are elusive.

The magical Bunna reminded me of a truth I know but often forget.

Some of life's mysteries are there to keep fresh the miracle and magic of just being alive, to keep us looking and searching, hoping. Some of those mysteries are there to remind us to appreciate what we have while we have it – nothing lasts forever. And some of life's mysteries and unanswered questions remain mysteries to protect us from a truth that would make our pain unbearable. So that even mysteries are something to be thankful for.

My daughter had her 7^th birthday last Sunday. She told me she had seen a shooting star out her window when she woke up. I asked her if she made a wish. She said she had. I asked her what it was, despite knowing that if you tell your wish, it won't come true. But she told me anyway.

“I wished for a thousand more wishes....” Then she whispered enigmatically, with a wink of childhood magic, “...and they're all the same!” 

 

Above all else, guard your heart,

for it is the wellspring of life.

Proverbs 4:23

Back to School

So, I've decided, after all these years, to go back to high school.
 

And not just any high school.

My old high school.

Strange how even after all these years, my qualms about the first day are the same as they were way back when:
    What will I wear?
    Will my hair work out?
    Will anybody like me?

    Will I find friends among my peers?

    Will I be able to do the work?

Strange how the questions are the same even though I'll be standing on the other side of the desk this time around.

Getting to this spot has been a bit of a crazy ride, but all along the way, I have felt watched over and guided. 

The last several mornings have been foggy. This morning the fog was particularly heavy. I couldn't see very far ahead of me as I went for my daily walk down the road. What I noticed, however, was that there was always a circle around me that was clear enough to see where I was going. I couldn't see down the road very far, but the path became clear as I walked along it.
 

 

 

 

That's rather how it has felt in my life this year – the road ahead is foggy and uncertain, but the next step is always made clear as I take it. And so that is what I do – I take the next step and trust in the guidance that is sufficient for the next step after that, knowing that eventually the fog will clear and give way to a brilliant day, a brilliant life.

 

You make known to me the path of life;

you will fill me with joy in your presence,

with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

Psalm 16:11

The path of the righteous is like the morning sun,

shining ever brighter till the full light of day.

Proverbs 4:18

 

Beautiful in its Time

We just got back from a little family vacation. Nothing too extravagant. Nothing too long (everyone was so pleased to be home after 3 1/2 days!). Nothing too far.

We went camping at Bird's Hill Park for a few nights.

We discovered right away that we were going to have territory issues with the local wildlife – ground squirrels in particular. One member of the family thought they were the cutest things and gave them names and treats and looked for opportunities to touch and feed them. They didn't need much encouragement to come around for food. Another member, who has an aversion to any animal with rodential inclination, spent a certain amount of time flailing and screeching at the things. And there was yet another member who took it upon himself to rescue the family from these insidious creatures and took to throwing logs at them, jumping up from picnic table and lawn chair at every opportunity to demonstrate his prowess. And a raccoon did visit the first night and after rummaging around and eating left over chips pilfered half a pan of rice krispie squares, pan included. I found it dragged into the bush the next morning.

 

And then there were, of course, the things we forgot at home. Like enough air mats for everyone to sleep on, and the necessary inverter required to blow up the mattresses we did have along, and a pair of pajamas and tooth brushes (although I'm not entirely sure if those were forgotten or simply left behind...).

We only camped for two nights, but despite the balmy forecast, it started raining around 6:30 PM on the second night and continued till early morning – sufficient time for the tent to develop leaks and for everything to be soaked in the morning for packing up, which we did remarkably quickly, I may add. By that time the siren call of a hotel room was loud and sweet.

 

But we had a memorable time and enjoyed each others' company. The kids are old enough for family bike rides and we made it to Lower Fort Garry, a living museum of an old Hudson's Bay Co. post from the 1800's. We visited the grave sites of both my grandparents and my husband's grandparents before settling into our hotel room for the night. 

 

 

 

 



The thing that struck me, both from visiting the museum and from pulling weeds from around my grandparents' graves, was how short a lifetime is. All these things that seem so pressing, perhaps that are even important, are all over so quickly and it doesn't take long and few people remember.  Nobody remembers the things that Sir George Simpson was worried about or particularly minds that the post didn't work out as successfully as he had hoped.  No one remembers the names of all the HBC employees who sat around smoking tobacco or aiming their muskets out of the tiny holes in the stone walls at the equally nameless Aboriginal men aiming their arrows over the fort walls.  There is no record of what my grandparents were anxious about in 1953 or what difficult decision or life change they were presented with in 1967. It just is gone so quickly. It kind of puts one's own life in a bit of a different perspective. 
 

 

The last night of our holiday we did spend in a hotel. It didn't rain. In fact, it was a lovely evening, warmer than it had been all day. My husband and I walked across the street to Tim Horton's to get an evening snack for the kids.  It was a pleasant, satisfying evening.  A golden orange crescent moon hung in the western sky.

“You know,” mused my husband, as we strolled down the sidewalk.  “It was on a summer evening just like this many years ago that Barry [his old high school friend] and I were sitting on the hood of his car discussing what it would be like if we got hit by a truck on the way home and that was the end of life."

We pondered for a moment as we carried on.

"And now that's what happened to him. I wonder if he would say now what he thought he would say all those years ago.”

We walked on in silence for awhile.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said, 'It was good while it lasted.'”

Let us make it so.

 

God has made everything beautiful in its time.

He has also set eternity in the human heart;

yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

I know that there is nothing better for people

than to be happy and to do good while they live.

That each of them may eat and drink,

and find satisfaction in all their toil – this is the gift of God.

I know that everything God does will endure forever;

nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.

God does it so that people will fear him.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 - 14

Lady Slippers



For my mom,

from an undisclosed location in Manitoba,

from earlier this summer,

the elusive Lady Slipper,

an endangered member of the orchid family...

 

 



Consider how the wild flowers grow.

They do not labor or spin.

Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor

was dressed like one of these.

If that is how God clothes the grass of the field,

which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire,

how much more will he clothe you -

you of little faith!

Luke 12:27





The “Epic-est” Summer

I was outside in the garden the morning of my son's dentist appointment when I heard whooping and cheering from the boy department inside the house. Somehow, I suspected it didn't have to do with the dental appointment. I figured the boys would tell me what was so exciting if it merited my attention.

No one came out to tell me, so I assumed someone had won a game on the computer or some other equally important accomplishment. When I went inside, though, both boys rushed to tell me the reason for their jubilation: TONY HAWK was coming to Winnipeg – TODAY! It said so on the radio!

For the uninitiated, Tony Hawk is a professional skateboarder, has been for almost 30 years, which is actually quite astonishing. He was the one to aspire to many years ago when my brothers were teenagers and into skateboarding. He's older than I am – what could be so great about an old “has been?” But, being a dutiful mother, I went and checked online to see if going to see Tony Hawk was even a feasible idea. Turns out, he was going to be at Polo Park in Winnipeg at 3:00 PM and was going to be doing a 45 minute demo.

Well, my son's dentist appointment was at 3:40 PM in Portage. There was no way going to see Tony Hawk would work. Logistically, it just wasn't feasible. End of story.

Except, of course, it wasn't.

There was great sadness and wailing; there was fighting and blaming of the boy needing to go to the dentist. If it weren't for him and his stupid tooth that needed to be pulled, we would be able to go see Tony Hawk, etc., etc.

So, just before lunch and getting cleaned up to go to the dentist, I called my husband to see if I was inflicting cruel and unusual punishment for taking my kid to the dentist instead of taking the boys for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see this legendary skateboarder from California who was in Winnipeg for one day only?

Ten minutes later, we were on our way to Winnipeg, skateboard and cameras in tow.

The boys were pretty “stoked.”

We stood with the crowd of skateboard fans, most of whom were young enough to be Tony Hawk's kids or even grandkids, and waited under the blistering sun for almost an hour, waiting for the show to start.

And then it did.

There were five other pro skaters with Tony Hawk, five other athletes who compete in the X games, five other skaters half the age of Tony Hawk. And they were really good.

But Tony Hawk was the best, hands down. Smooth and fluid on the half pipe, doing tricks with grace and finesse that most men his age wouldn't dream of even attempting.

It was a pretty good show. The boys were thrilled to have been able to “high-five” Tony Hawk several times and they were there! In real life!

“This is the 'epic-est' summer ever!” enthused my oldest boy. “Thanks for taking us, Mom. And thanks for being on our side, Dad!” Somehow, I suspect a trip to the dentist's office to have a tooth pulled wouldn't have garnered that same enthusiasm, or have rocketed our summer to such stratospheric praise. And I was happy I had taken my kids to see Tony Hawk.

Sometimes, you just have to grab opportunities when they present themselves and put practicality on hold.

       One of the best ways to make yourself happy is to make other people happy.

       One of the best ways to make other people happy is to be happy yourself.

                                                                                          Gretchen Rubin

                  Happiness often sneaks in a door you did not think was open.

My son's dental appointment has been rescheduled for August 8.

Enrique

This evening, my son and I made a work-exchange deal: he would help me with the dishes for 10 minutes and in exchange, I would help him clean his room for 10 minutes. We both come away from a deal like this thinking we got the better end of the bargain since he hates cleaning his room but doesn't mind doing the dishes while I hate doing the dishes but don't mind tidying a room.

In an effort to make the dishes part a little more enjoyable, I announced we would listen to music. My son asked if he could pick what we listened to, which was fine. He picked the self-titled 1999 album by Enrique Iglesias.

This album is rather an anomaly in our music collection, but there is no other CD we have that so instantly transports me back in time. This album was quite recent when we acquired it in 2000 and every single time I hear it, I'm back in hot, sticky Alabama, almost 13 years ago to the day.

We here in Manitoba like to whine and complain about the heat and humidity we suffer in the first half of summer, but folks, let me tell you, we have nothing on Alabama in July. We had driven down from Kentucky to Alabama to see some new sights and to celebrate our second anniversary, but it was so hot – 104° F in the shade – and unbearably humid that we didn't see much: we would just dash from one air conditioned building to another. It didn't really matter what was inside, so long as it was cool.

We had camped close to Birmingham, AL for several days, but we had booked a B & B in another little town an hour or two north of there for our anniversary and headed there on July 4, Independence Day. We stopped at a roadside stop off the interstate to have our supper. We were unpacking our weiners and buns and my husband was firing up the camp stove when we couldn't help but notice another motorist in the parking lot. The well-dressed young man kept turning his key to start the ignition, but even I could tell he had already flooded the engine and it wasn't going to start any time soon. But he kept trying and trying. The young man was clearly agitated and worried about the lack of responsiveness in his very nice sports car. This was before the days of wide-spread cell phone use.

My bleeding heart went out to the poor guy because I have also been in situations where my car, though not nearly so classy, wouldn't start and I didn't know what to do. So I encouraged my husband, whom I felt was more qualified than I, to go help him. He didn't think he could help him with his car, but he did go over and talk to him.

It turned out this guy had been stuck at this roadside stop for 6 hours, and not one single person had offered to help him. My husband was the first person who had spoken to him all afternoon. As my husband suspected, after a cursory glance, he couldn't help him with the car, but we did offer him supper, which he gratefully accepted. So he sat there with us and ate our humble hot dogs. His relief that he wasn't alone with his problem was palpable. If he had been a girl, he would have cried.

After we were done eating, he and my husband went to look at his car again. A couple guys trying to solve a problem seems to be a magnet for other guys to come and offer advice, and in a few minutes a trucker come over to see if he could help. Since it was a holiday, no businesses around were open, but the trucker offered to take him to the next town or city where he could make arrangements for his car.

Pleased that some solution had been reached, we packed up our supper and were getting ready to leave, when the young man grabbed a CD from his collection and thrust it at us, urging us to take it as a token of his deep gratitude, though those weren't the exact words he used.

And so we were introduced to Enrique Iglesias, who does not look dissimilar from the young man who gave us that CD. And I always think of him when I listen to that CD and I think of how such a small gesture of kindness so completely altered the story – for him and for us.

Honey for the Wise

Honey for the Wise

      Eat honey, my son, for it is good;

           honey from the comb is sweet to your taste.

      Know also that wisdom is like honey for you;

      If you find it, there is a future hope for you,

           and your hope will not be cut off.

     Proverbs 24:13-14

My brother, who works at an apiary, recently acquired a couple of beehives for himself that he showed us over the weekend.

A beehive is a fascinating thing, all those hundreds of bees tending to their duties: guarding the eggs, feeding the larvae, grooming the queen, fanning the entrance to the hive, collecting nectar to make honey. All busily doing exactly what they were created to do.

Which becomes all the more intriguing when you learn about the life cycle of a bee. Bees collect nectar from flowers to produce honey, which is what will sustain them through the winter when there are no flowers. During the summer months, a bee lives for 28 - 35 days; only those bees hatched in late September or October will survive over the winter. In that one month of life, a honey bee, flying 15 miles an hour, visiting 50 to 100 flowers per trip, will produce about 1/12 of a teaspoon of honey. To produce one pound of honey, a whole hive of bees must fly over 

55 000 miles and visit two million flowers. Which is an astonishing amount of work for a future most of the bees will not see.*

 

And for us, “wisdom is like honey.” Wisdom, gained through the hard work of living, of doing what we were created to do. Sweet and good to taste. Hard-won sustenance. The farther we fly, the more metaphorical flowers we visit, the greater the wisdom. In the grand scheme of things, our life span is as brief as a honey bee's, but for us there is "a future hope, a hope that will not be cut off."

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom....” Proverbs 9:10a

* Why do bees make honey?

Known and Unknown

I had a very insightful conversation with one of my kindergarten students this week.

Earlier in the day, one little boy had asked me when a boy turned into a man. A cute question for a 6-year-old to ask. I said a boy turned into a man when he started acting like one, and then carried on with the task at hand. And that seemed to be the end of the conversation.

Later in the day, that same boy came in from recess and instead of getting his shoes on, he was agitated and was flitting about worriedly.

“Mrs. Thiessen,” he said. “You know a lot of things. Why can't you just keep on teaching us when we go into the next class and again and again until I'm a grown man?”

It was tempting to feel flattered, that this little boy thought I was so smart and that he would like me to be his teacher until he was a grown man.  (I suppose earlier in the morning he had been scoping out how long he would need to be prepared to have me as his teacher for his plan to work!). But, I knew that wasn't really what he was saying at all. I crouched down to his level.

“It's scary to think about going to grade one, isn't it? With a new classroom and a new teacher?”

And that was it exactly. He seemed relieved that I understood what he was saying. Because I do. It is scary to face something new and unknown. It would be so much more comfortable to stick with what is familiar. At least that's the way it feels right now. I told him we would arrange to go visit the grade one class before school was done and see what it was like and we would meet the grade one teachers so we could see that they weren't scary ladies.

Real fears about real life.

And then my daughter announced at supper time that same day that she was afraid of dying. And I knew what she was talking about, too. I told her that the thing to do was to meet and get to know Jesus now in this life so that moving through death wouldn't be as scary, because then you would know someone familiar on the other side.

Knowing Jesus is the answer really for facing any unknown and unfamiliar situation because he is a “known” you can count on. Jesus himself promised, “...Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matt. 28:20b). Grade One and death and everything in between included.

Covered

This week it was confirmed yet again that I am not a big fan of

      a) stress.

      b) change.

      c) discomfort.

      d) making decisions under pressure.

And life says, basically, “Get used to it, honey.”

The Psalmist says in Psalm 143:8,

     Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love

        for I have put my trust in you.

     Show me the way I should go,

        for to you I entrust my life.

So after spending a night tossing and turning, I say that too in the morning, and am comforted and assured and I think directed, and by afternoon I have forgotten and am completely unsure of the direction I have chosen.

I am not usually a big fan of the war imagery in the Psalms, but there is comfort in Psalm 144:1-2:

     Praise be to the Lord my Rock,

        who trains my hands for war,

     my fingers for battle.

        He is my loving God and my fortress,

     my stronghold and my deliverer,

         my shield, in whom I take refuge,

      who subdues peoples under me.

God's got me covered. He trains me for the task set before me, even down to the details, down to my fingers. And then when life gets thick and hairy, God is my fortress and refuge where I can run to, hide out and be safe. And God is my shield, my protection in the frey when my task is to go out and do. And it is God who accomplishes the final result. And I am a big fan of that. 

 

Is there anything to fear besides forgetfulness?

Is my trust big enough to remember?