Sometimes a bane but always a blessing

Gift #9. Mischief Hands.

Signs of neuron-firing, synapse-forming, I-AM-HERE! life.

Watch out for your cellphone!

Fast of ingratitude

Confession: I have never meaningfully given myself over to a lenten fast before, save for the failed chocolate fast I tried one year in highschool.

This year, I've been inspired by writer Ann Voskamp to embark on something more significant - a fast of ingratitude.

Ingratitude, you ask? Yes, it is as crazy as it sounds, and no, I don't expect I'll be able to keep it, curmudgeon that I am.

Ingratitude is one of those things that constantly lives in my heart. I always want more and what I have is never enough. Falling into it is as instinctive as breathing. So, am I setting myself up for failure? This isn't about being "good enough" or "doing it right." I'm committing to a posture of thanks, exercising it daily by listing what I am thankful for and giving God thanks for it.

Ann Voskamp did this, writing down one thousand things she loves. Yes - one THOUSAND. She considers it a spiritual discipline, a way of being fully aware of the gifts God has given her by naming them. Doing so more intimately connects us with the heart of God and his very deep love for us. In her words,

This act of naming grace moments, this list of God's gifts, moves beyond the shopping list variety of prayer and into the other side. The other side of prayer . . . the inner walls of His powerful, love-beating heart. The list is God's list, the pulse of His love - the love that thrums on the other side of our prayers. And I see it now for what this really is, this dare to write down one thousand things I love. It really is a dare to name all the ways that God loves me. (Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts)

It's a simple exercise, but one I know I'll have trouble keeping. But I have no alternative. Keep ingratitude alive, or true, God-filled joy will die.

I want to live - and live fully.

So here it is. My first of a thousand (or hopefully more) gifts:

1. Husband's sweater I am wearing, steeped in his scent.

Postcards for my children

We set off in New Mexico at the great gorge that split the earth in two, then north to Colorado, through plains of blazing orange rock. Jagged monoliths, like antediluvian sentinels, watched with timeless gaze as we trespassed their desert territories.

Then came the Green Rock – Mesa Verde – dominating the valley with its magnificent presence. I watched in awe as it loomed ahead, ominous and full of ancient secrets. In Ontario, we have petroglyphs and bits of broken pottery as mementos of the past. Here, whole dwellings remain hewn into the cliffs, eerily preserved as though waiting for their ancient masters to return.

Chasms, desert, sagebrush and scrub. It’s the most alien of landscapes to my lake-filled Canadian upbringing. It also an inextricable piece of my husband’s being, etched into the lines of his face, the heatwave-like gait of his walk, the sensitivity of his eyes to sunlight.

I think of this, when my son touches his father's face, fingers against crow's feet. His myriad of landscapes.

I hope, one day, to acquaint him with each one.

Out of the rubble

God is our refuge and strength,

an ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall;

God will help her at break of day.

Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;

he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

The LORD Almighty is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come and see what the LORD has done,

the desolations he has brought on the earth.

He makes wars cease

to the ends of the earth.

He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

he burns the shields with fire.

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth.”

The LORD Almighty is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.

-Psalm 46

Continued prayers for Japan and Haiti

peripatetic

There's something to be said about a good dose of wanderlust, especially on a sunny day on the west coast.

Though, even in a city as big as this, I often find myself wondering where I should go. There's nothing to do.

So, I take a walk. I try a different street. I trod through a neighbourhood never trodden. I take my camera, try to see the same-old with new eyes.

Sometimes, I get stuck on a street full of Vancouver specials, rows of plaster lions leering at me from their gates.

Other times, I'm more lucky.

Altogether lovely on a not-so lovely day

In dreamy half-sleep, I hear crows caw, the floorboards creak, the drip of rain. My heart sinks. Another day of wet and cold, another day trapped in the house again.

Living in coram Deo is hard on days like these, when I'd rather be on a beach somewhere hot or living a life free of responsibility and obligation. Days like these make it easier to spit out what's always on the edge of my tongue: What's in it for me? Easier, on miserable days, to forget the bigger picture of life, and to hold tightly to my very tiny ideas of what is worthwhile.

Yet, there will always be rainy days like this, chore-filled, transit-sitting, should-I-go-outside-or-not liminal in-betweenness.

So, I get up, get dressed. I bother to put on makeup for no reason in particular. Then, when baby naps, I thumb open barely-used Spurgeon and read, "All earthly suns have their spots. The fair world itself has its wilderness. We cannot love the whole of the loveliest thing, but Christ Jesus is gold without alloy, light without darkness, glory without cloud. - 'Yea, he is altogether lovely.' "

I look up. Outside, the clouds linger. Chores remain. Hours still yet to pass. But within, a shining nimbus lifts the veil. Hope. Joy. A heart free to receive light and life.

To the other half, a toast

Two wedding invitations arrive in the mail today. My fingers fly at the envelopes, impatient to see the colors, font and design of the cardstock within.

I am always amazed. Such labours of love, these pieces of ribbon and embossed paper! I know full well the thought that goes each invitation I get. I know, because I obsessed about mine, too.

I turn the invitations over in my hand. I am filled with joy for my friends who have agreed to go down this crazy, amazing road. I think of my own marriage and the day I said yes to my best friend, my co-conspirator, the father of my sweet baby bear. Marriage has definitely not been easy and I have, more often than I'd like to admit, fought and struggled with the foreverness of this pact.

But, I remain thankful. Despite my grumpiest of days, despite my own lofty standards, and despite my cut-throat desire to be right, I am thankful for the man who delights in getting me treats, cooks me dinner, and who coached me through the birth of our son - the longest day of my life. And more than that, I am thankful that God works through the messy parts of marriage and teaches me, as imperfect as I am, how to love my husband deeper, more forgivingly, more understandingly.

Spring in a pot

Minutia

I love his strong, stubby hands

his plush, rosy cheeks

his squishy, pillowy feet.

I enjoy his tiny size now

Because I know,

with each passing minute,

He'll never be this small again.

Urbanesque

I live in an area of the city known to be trendy in a "don't call us trendy" kind of way. It's also a mixed bag, full of hipsters, goth kids, eco-crusaders, Rastas - you name it. And that includes weird people of faith like me, a Christian in a lesbian neighbourhood. And I love it here.

Here, on "The Drive", things feel a bit more real, even though all of us are posing in some way or another. At least here, strangers talk to each other and there's a bit more colour painting these streets (literally!)

Of course, there's a gritty darkness that creeps along these streets. People get shot here more often. More homeless men and women live here. Sometimes, I hear screaming in my back alley in the dead of night.

But I'm here now, here in this city of incredible beauty and profound darkness surrounded by mountains and glass, drug abuse and prostitution. And it's okay. Really.

Even in this place, God reigns. It's his redeeming work in the ugliness that gives me a fuller, greater understanding of Beauty. He's got big plans for Vancouver, as he always does for all of humanity. I know it. Pslam 90 says it best:

Lord, you have been our dwelling place

throughout all generations.

Before the mountains were born

or you brought forth the whole world,

from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

Beauty. Here's a peek.

For all the beauty in the world

The smell of ocean-salt air. A blush-pink cherry blossom. The intimacy of an earnest embrace. For all the beauty in the world, why is happiness so elusive?

Maybe because beauty too easily escapes my notice. These days, I'm washing dishes, feeding the baby, looking for keys, losing my wallet. I wonder why life is so mundane, repetitive and, at times, so grey. Yet, when I was an editor living in a cubicle and atrophying in gridlocked traffic for hours at a time, life wasn't exactly paradise either.

So I ask myself: Why can't I ever be happy? (And my childish Sunday School voice whines, "Aren't Christians supposed to be happy?")

I know it, but I don't like to admit it. I'm the Prodigal Son. I'm the one trying to fill the holes in my soul with everything but God. I'm living my life as I want, and yet, it hasn't turned out to be the kind of life I want.

Amazingly, the answer to this has been sitting in front of me all this time, farting in his high chair and leaving gifts for me in his diaper. It's Coram, my sweet and precious baby, whose name refers to the theological term, Coram Deo, because we hope he'd be inspired to live a life in keeping with his name. Turns out, his name was also meant to show me how to live mine.

As R.C. Sproul puts it,

Coram Deo captures the essence of the Christian life. This phrase literally refers to something that takes place in the presence of, or before the face of, God. To live Coram Deo is to live one's entire life in the presence of God, under the authority of God, to the glory of God. (Ligonier.com)

That said, life as a scullery-maid-mom or office drone may be mundane, but I cling to the hope that submitting every part of my life before this wild and extravagant God, no matter how small or everyday, will bring Beauty back into my life. And I'm not just talking about "yeah that's nice," small 'B' beauty. I'm talking about capital 'B' Beauty, looking at the world through God's immense love for me and for the world.

For what good is all the beauty in the world if we can't see God's glory in it?