Bees in My Bonnet

 Today is March 8 - the day between. On March 7, 2016, I got the unexpected phonecall that Dad was not responsive and couldn't be woken. And then the journey of grief, loss, and sudden, unexpected change. Having had 2 parents for 39 years felt normal and familiar, even if it wasn't the best relationship or easy. I had never not had both parents. And so began a new kind of life, and learning. I learned what death means in a new, real, heart-rending way.  Fast forward to 2022, March 9. We got the call March 8 that Mom was unconscious and would likely not survive the night. We got in the car with a few kids and drove through the night to Arkansas to try to get there to say goodbye to her unconscious body. We wanted to be with Cathy in that lonely, fearful, painful time. Two hours before we would arrive, Mom breathed her last. It was around 7 in the morning when Cathy called to say Mom had been taken home to glory. And so in every year since I have found March 8 to be the day betw...

 I have been slow in bringing words to the blog. I began to process the past two years, and I guess my whole life, actually. And then I stop and get sucked into the current dramas of my life and days. There have been plenty (I'm sure this comes as no surprise). And part of the process is realizing I can't share everything that goes on in our household. There are other people's lives navigating the twists and turns of life. There are young people emerging, finding who they'll be, what they'll believe, how they'll engage with the world. There are pleasant and unpleasant discussions. For me, there is a moment-by-moment discernment of how much to correct and how much to pray over and trust the Lord to correct. I see my children growing, considering the things that go on in the world, form opinions (some or many of which I might find disturbing!) and realize they were never mine to own, only mine to steward for a season. That said, when children hurt, make terrible j...

 Just a poetic meditation for today. And that is all. Where we hurt Can I find the place,  The hidden cavern Crested , unexplored,  The fountain-head,  That point of pain - Where it begins  Its crimson stain Which flows, reaching  Every stream of me?  Can I wonder over Every part of my being - What is seen, what is unseen,  To detect where hurt resides,  Seeking a blanket, a balm,  A cool cup of water?  I will seek I will find There I make a nest, Cradle the ache. Tread softly  Listen  It speaks, "Hear me!"  I will go Leave the place I've come to know  Let rest unbind tight-woven dread Take slowly life's breath Into every crevice yet to be seen; I entrust myself to Love.  "My burden is light," I am told,  And laughing, gasp, allowing doubt to speak, "Oh really?"  A burden - light? How can it be?  The answer came long before: "Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you." 

I turned 48 last month. My sister turned 50 this week. I'm beginning to measure life through the lens of decades rather than years. I can frame who I was, what I was, how I lived, where I lived, who I lived with, in pockets of time, and now I near the end of the 5th pocket of time, the pocket of decades. Timo's accident last year was like being put in a washing machine - the kind with the window in front, where every few turns you see the splash of bright colour of a favourite garment, only to be whisked away and replaced by earthtones and stained dishrags. It felt like the world was spinning and I was spinning with it, and being disoriented, and confused, and drowning. Truth be told, it wasn't just last year that was like that...it's been much of my life. I can measure seasons of depression and disorientation through the lens of adolescent life, transitioning countries, relational transitions - from daughter, to friend,  to student, to teacher, to single, to married, t...

 Is it audacious to pretend that God has a birthday? Today the whole world seems to pause and recognize...some thing , if not, some ONE.   Those who come to adore the Christ-child and those who merely tip their hat in token reverence - most of the world will in some way commemorate the coming of this newborn baby, come to make all things new.   And how will we honour Him? In the markets we will purchase. In our homes we will decorate. Some will travel far and wide to gather together with family, whether natural or chosen. There will be food, feasting, desserts, fun, simple gifts, abundant gifts. We will honour the birth of the holy child by honouring each other.   Don't you think the God Who made us, delights in our  delight in good gifts - the gift of each other, yes, but also the new fluffy blanket, new notebook and pen, new robot vacuum, new piano books, new dollhouse, new art kit, new socks, new bouquet of flowers? Aren't these tangible pictures that hint to...

For Previous Post Click Here   Here's what I wrote last year:  I start to get up out of bed and grab a purple skirt, and throw a t-shirt on. A random thought hits me - 'glad I'll be home in a bit as I shouldn't really go out in public looking like a disheveled trash collector wearing whatever I gleaned from a dumpster dive' (no dig for dumpster divers here! They're probably my tribe!). Sam offers to go instead. I tell Sam he can go to bed since he's tired. Last minute before I leave I see Sam up - some random impulse compelled him to come with me. I let him drive. 'Just go to North Avenue. Then go north on Gary - that's what Timo said. He said we'd find him there a little way up.' And find him we did. First we saw some bright lights. We figured a cop car had likely stopped. But there were so many. We didn't count them all. The road was cordoned off. A cop was re-directing traffic - no cars could head north on this road. We pull up to the ...