My Bowl is Full

One year ago today, I posted my first blog entry entitled  “Amber Opportunities” about collecting amber rocks and interesting opportunities.

 

What a difference one year makes.

Initially, I started my blog “for the kids.” I live with a hazy, nebulous sense that my days are numbered, or equally nebulous, that something “bad” is going to happen imminently. Yes, I should probably see a therapist about that, but until that happens, I figured that I should start writing things down for my kids to know in the event that I'm not around to tell them. You know, not like how to do laundry or how to cook a meal, but all those sermons they might need to hear at some point from their mother. Or perhaps more accurately, sermons that their mother might feel obliged to impart to them.

 

So I started writing down things that I believe, or aim to believe.

And the kids did read the first few posts – partly because I told them to – but it didn't take long and my blog was no longer “for the kids.”

It became “for me.” It became my way of paying attention to my own life, of looking intentionally for lessons I could learn from things that were going on around me, of processing my own struggles, and then in a way that is difficult to describe, this paying attention and looking and processing became a way of praying for me.

I have never stuck to a creative outlet as long and consistently as I have to this blog and it has been life-changing. I considered starting a blog for several years before I actually got up the gumption to because I didn't think I had anything to write about; nothing was really happening in my life. But when each week I expected myself to have something to post, I opened my eyes to my own life and realized there are always things happening. Small things that are really big things. Big things that are really small things. Tiny things that hold nuggets of wisdom waiting to be mined. 

 

And now my bowl is full. Just as I have continued picking up my amber stones along the same stretch of road for a whole year and adding them to my collection, so I have continued to pick up moments of insight in my life for a whole year and written them down. Some stones are big, some are deeply hued, some are a little too rough for the collection, some are too small to be significant. But they all went in my bowl and now it is full. As my life is full. And I am thankful. For the big things, the rough things, the small things, the beautifully smooth and coloured things. I am grateful. 

 

“[The Lord] anoints my head will oil,

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Psalm 23:5b-6

It is deeply gratifying and humbling for me to realize that there are people in this world who take a few minutes of their lives, some even regularly, to read what I have written. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Evening Light

I am grateful for these...

Piano

We retired our old piano this week.

This was a rather melancholy moment for me.

The piano was old – manufactured around 1905, according to the man who did some work on it a couple of years ago – and I love old things.

And this particular old piano held a lot of memories for me. It belonged to my parents before it belonged to me.

When I was very young, after all the kids were in bed, my mom would sit down at the piano and play. I loved falling asleep to the sound of her music.

My mom gave me my first piano lessons on it when I was 8 years old.

I taught my first piano lessons to my younger brother on that piano. That was his one and only year of piano lessons, but I have taken credit for all his subsequent musical prowess on account of that one year.

I practiced many years worth of piano on that piano. I remember thinking one time in high school that it was during some of these practices that I was following Jesus' imperative to “not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing .” (Mt 6:3)

These last two memories may have happened in the same year.

I taught my own children their first piano lessons on this piano, some more willingly than others.

But the piano was old and had suffered many difficulties in its' latter years. A period of cold and disuse. A period (in between my parent's ownership and ours) of misuse where it lost a number of its ivories. A couple years of high humidity, a couple years of brittle dryness. These are hard on a piano, particularly this old piano. Its sound board had two major cracks and it wouldn't hold its tune any more, making any piano practicing painful to listen to – even when all the right notes were played.

So we hauled it out to make room for a different one. One that has all its ivories and an uncracked sound board.

But first we had to get it out of our neighbors' basement.

They said it hadn't be hard to get it down.

Only this time we were going in a different direction. Up is a little more challenging. And these seemed like particularly steep stairs. Stairs are always particularly steep when a piano is involved.

We enlisted the help of the musical brother (in payment for all those amazing lessons 20 years ago!) and the help of the neighbour whose wife had sold us the piano. And of course, my husband who knows how to do things.  Like hauling a piano out of a basement.

I, on the other hand, only know how to worry about how to do things. How were we going to get this thing out of the basement and up the stairs without someone ending up squashed beneath a piano? Were these ropes going to hold? Was the piano going to tip and put a hole in our neighbours' wall? Was anyone going to end up with a hernia or excruciating back pain? Oh dear, oh dear!

Long story short, the piano is currently in my living room, ready to be played. No one died or was injured. We left the house in good repair.

My husband was exhausted. He said his back was fine; it just took a lot of energy to be the “Yes, we can” guy. Probably especially when your wife is flitting about worrying and expecting anyone to die at any moment.

You'd think that I would know a thing or two about how helpful worry is by now. My brother, in relating another piano-moving story, likened the worrying owner to an irritating fly that you can't swat away because your hands are full. What would I have done if the piano had ended up on top of someone? Said “I told you so?” “I knew this would happen?” Something equally helpful?  Is hand-wringing and "voicing my concerns" really the best way to show that I care?

I don't generally think of myself as a worrier – so long as everything goes according to my plan. The obvious solution to my worrying, then, is that everybody and everything just cooperate and participate in my good plan. It's only when I come up against some resistance to this solution, or when I don't have a plan for the situation in front of me, that I begin to worry. Which is as helpful to the situation as an irritating fly.

In Luke12:25, Jesus asks his disciples: “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? [or, I might add, to the life of anyone else, including a piano mover?] Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?”   

I am guaranteed obstacles in life, things or people or events I can't control. A quote I read this morning may have some insight for this predicament. Theologian Richard Rohr says, “Faith is not for overcoming obstacles; it is for experiencing them.”

"Be Youself; Everyone Else is Already Taken"

I've had many students over the years and I've learned a lot from them.

I've been thinking a lot recently about one particular pair of students, two boys. One smallish, one biggish, but the same age.

The smaller one, well, he was a piece of work, that boy. You had to watch that he didn't take over the class both with his unselfconscious antics and with his innate leadership qualities. He was a piece of work, but he was an original.

The bigger boy was smart as a whip, but was a follower. So what would happen is that the first boy would get going telling some story or creating some activity he wasn't supposed to. This would begin to register in my mind and I would start to reprimand him. But by that time, he was on to the next thing, and the other boy would be parroting the first boy's actions or words verbatim, and the second boy would catch the reprimand. I found this frustrating because it wasn't really fair to the bigger boy to get in trouble for the smaller boy's ideas. I also found it frustrating that the bigger boy, who was so sharp, wouldn't just be himself, come up with his own stories, his own interesting actions. He spent his energy being a “knock-off” when he had it in him to be an original in his own right.

I found it frustrating, but the reason I've been thinking of these two recently, is because I've been wondering if I don't have more in common with the bigger boy than I'd like to admit. How much parroting don't I do? I see or hear someone I respect and try to behave or talk in a similar way; I see how “proper” people maintain their homes or careers or families then spend energy mostly feeling wrong for not doing things “properly.”

Am I an original or a knock-off? By this stage of the game, would I even know the difference in myself?

In the art and fashion worlds, original pieces are always more valuable than knock-offs. I would say the same for people I know: the ones who are truly themselves, who are comfortable in their own skins, who aren't trying to be someone else are more interesting, more comfortable and safe to be around, more encouraging. For some people, I suppose, this comes naturally. For others, it takes a tremendous act of courage to remember and embrace their “original” status.

So God created mankind in God's own image,

in the image of God he created them;

male and female God created them....

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.

Gen. 1:27, 31

Drop Your Tools and Retreat

I heard an account recently of the two worst forest fires in American history. They were described as “the worst” partly because of their scale and enormity, but mostly because of the unusually high number of fire fighter casualties that occurred.

 

In subsequent months, there was an investigation and research done into the cause of the high number of deaths. They discovered something very curious. At a critical point in the fire, the command was issued: “Drop your tools and retreat.” Apparently, this was a standard procedure that was only employed in very rare cases of uncontrollable fire. It was at this point where the majority of fire fighters lost their lives. Researches discovered that there were four main reasons why this critical command was not heeded to tragic results.

1. Poor reception of communication. The fire, at its height, was incredibly loud and made it difficult for some fighters to hear the command coming over their radios; and because this command was rarely issued, the fire fighters didn't assume that's what they heard through the static.

2. Poor practice of standard procedure. Some fire fighters conceivably heard the command, but hadn't practised that procedure since it was so rarely used; they chose to stick with what they knew - fighting fires – over what they were unfamiliar with - retreating - and lost their lives as a result.

3. Poor trust. A number of the crews were operating under new commanders who had held that position for three months or less. They hadn't been together long enough to develop a trusting relationship and were hesitant to believe or follow the instructions of their new leader.

4. Poor judgement. And then there were some others. They heard the command, they had practised that procedure, they were following seasoned leaders. These were fire fighters who had either been at their job for so long or were so committed to being defined as “fire fighter” that they chose rather to be dead heroes than live “cowards” who retreated in the face of fierce fire. An “over my dead body will I retreat” kind of attitude.

The presenter* who related this account used this story as an analogy as to why people tend to be resistant to change – even good change. He said either the reasons for change aren't understood, or people are afraid of change so they stick with what they know, they don't trust the instigator of change, or they've tied their identity too closely to the way they are currently doing things so that change of any sort is an affront to their personhood.

Ah, change. Lovely, lovely change. When I look at my life, I can see all four types of resistance to change:

I'm not quite sure I really am supposed to make this change – it doesn't make much sense.

I am afraid; I may not be the happiest person right where I am, but at least what I'm doing is familiar. Change is scary. I think I'll just stick with what I know.

This is just who I am and the way I've chosen to be; I don't want to change, or I think I can't change because I don't know any other way.

But it's that third reason that's giving me pause for thought. Who is my leader? Who's giving me the commands? Am I even listening to my leader? And do I trust enough to obey?

If I claim that it is God whom I follow, have I put in the effort to develop a trusting relationship? Have I practised the “standard procedures” outlined for me in God's handbook so that I'm comfortable obeying the rare and unusual commands God may issue? If I look back over our relationship, has God proven trustworthy? Have I got my radio tuned into God's frequency?

It makes me think of Abraham, sitting there nice and comfortable in Haran, wealthy, stable, secure, family all around. What more could a person want in life? Then God issues the command: Drop your tools and retreat. Except God doesn't bother telling him where to retreat to. (Nor does God really tell Abraham to drop his tools – he just packs them all up for the journey). Just leave. Go. Start. The way will be shown (Genesis 12). Do I trust that much, that I could start out without knowing where I will end up? Do I trust enough to drop my tools, the tools I have for so long used to protect myself, and retreat to the not-yet-seen place that God will show me?

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding.

In all your ways submit to him,

and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV

*The presenter was Dr. Anthony Muhummad, Ph.D.

Photo credit:  weadapt.org

 

Vanilla Smile

My vanilla smiled at me.

I was baking a cake the other day and my vanilla smiled at me.

I needed that smile. Not because I'm short on people who will smile at me, but because it was a friendly reminder to chill out, relax, find some humour in the everyday. Not that I necessarily took action in that direction immediately, but it was a reminder.

Too often, I get caught up in thoughts and feelings that tell me I'm not good enough, or not good, or just plain old not enough. Where do these thoughts and feelings come from, you may ask. From the one and only person who brings me a daily report on how I've fared during the day: myself, of course. “Well, today was not too bad, but you sure could have done XYZ better....” And then, not only do I cut myself down, I also feel guilty for cutting myself down, and I wouldn't actually want to admit to anyone how I'm thinking or feeling, because one doesn't want to display weakness or incompetence, so I push those feelings down and slam the trap door shut and hope they don't burst out. At least not at an inconvenient time.

Why do I do that to myself? And where, exactly, is that line between high and unreasonable expectations? Between having some kind of personal standards and imposing ridiculous pressure on oneself? And what if my unreasonable expectations and ridiculous pressure barely register on someone else's “regular” standards?

I don't know the answer to those questions, or I'd be in a better place by now.

I suspect, when it comes down to it, that those are unhelpful questions to be asking. They indicate, I suspect, a misplaced focus. I am reminded again of

2 Corinthians 12:9–10:

But [the Lord] said to me,

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ's power may rest on me.

That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weakness,

in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I'm not quite to the “boasting and delighting in weakness” stage, but I did smile back at the vanilla, though it may have looked slightly more like a grimace than a smile.

Deal or No Deal?

I'm a bit of a sucker for free samples.

Which is why I ended up in a new high-end cosmetics store in the Brandon's Shopper's Mall last week.

I don't generally frequent stores like that, but it was the first store in view, coming in the side entrance as we did. And there was Almog, as she later introduced herself, silver tray in hand, standing at the wide entrance to her minimalist store.

I glanced at the individual serving cups on the tray holding tiny dollops of fine hand creme. When I looked up, she caught my eye.

“Would you like to try some?”

Well, how could I resist? My children all dutifully trailed me into the store where I was offered a sample of the lotion which apparently had “diamond dust” in it, a feature which intrigued the boys.

I had barely selected my little cup of lotion when Almog invited me deeper into her store where she could “show me something.”  It was a fancy 4-sided nail file to make my nails strong and shiny, which she demonstrated on one of my nails. I'm also a bit of a sucker for anything that vaguely hints of spa treatment.

And then she demonstrated on my 6-year-old daughter, who is also inclined in that direction (the boys refused the treatment), all the while promoting her products in her charmingly French-accented voice.

I knew the session was building up to a specific sales pitch, the promotion of the month: a set of lotion, nail file and other assorted oils – all for only $79.95 – but this included free refills for 2 years! Not only that, I could receive two kits for the price of one! When I told her I wasn't interested (due to the fact that I had two years earlier acquired a similar product involving a similar scheme, the evidence of which languishes unused in my closet), she moved over to her computer to “check” to see if she could offer me a more suitable deal. In fact, she could! I could buy the kit for only $39.95, free refills included!

I finished rubbing the diamond dust lotion into my hands, gracefully declined and exited the store.

Almog went to great lengths to lure me into her store and make a sale.  Not so unlike the offer God makes to His people in Isaiah 55:1-3:

Come, all you who are thirsty,

come to the waters,

and you who have no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without cost.

Why spend money on what is not bread,

and your labour on what does not satisfy?

Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,

and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.

Give ear and come to me;

hear me, that your soul may live.

God does everything in his power to supply me with everything I need, setting the price at such an accessible rate. And yet how many of God's blessings are languishing unused in my closet? And why do I so often “gracefully decline” having my needs fulfilled? So often persist in going shopping at “stores” that specialize in false advertising, with vendors that exact exorbitant rates?

Pride, I suppose.

I feel I ought to be able to provide for myself. Or at least should be obliged to work hard to achieve the things I have, maintain some claim to my accomplishments.  And besides, that's where the infamous and nebulous "everyone else" shops.

So, I can buy into the lie that says I am obliged to foot the bill for all of life's provisions, or I can believe God who tells me he's already paid the bill and offers me abundant life just for the asking (John 10:10). You wouldn't think that deciding which deal to sign up for would be such a hard decision to make.