Now, after the break...

Sorry for the lack of regular posts, dear reader. Easter got busy, I got sick, the baby got sick, and now I'm just tired. Honestly, in all this craziness, I've been struggling to be thankful - and since the theme of this blog is thankfulness, you can see why I shied away from updating it!

Well, back on the blogging-about-thankfulness wagon.

Gift #11. Sunny seaside days filled with baby wonderment

Save the Elms on East 6th!

Those of you who live in East Van will probably know about the city's plans to cut down the beautiful old elms on East 6th, just behind the JJ Bean. As expected of East Van's hippie tree-hugging residents, they were seriously not impressed and have been campaigning against the city's decision. I'm no botanist, but I sure hope they find an alternative to treat the trees rather than remove them.

In any case, I thought it wise to snap a shot of these graceful elms before it's too late.

Oh, spring!

#10. Everywhere, springtime blossoms!

okay, so this is just a gnarly old tree. Just thought it was cool.

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