Bees in My Bonnet

 When I was at the worst part of covid last year, I could barely keep awake and when I was awake, I had no mental stamina to read or concentrate on anything. I couldn't listen to a narrative, or I'd get lost. My mind felt numb and consumed with the pain going on in seemingly every part of my body. So I went to BibleGateway.com and started to listen to Psalms. I have been memorizing Psalm 119, so I listen to it routinely. I've made my own voice recording but I hadn't a year ago so I was still using the online Bible Gateway version, in the ESV. Because I wanted to focus on Psalm 119, and I often was tossing or turning for a few minutes beforehand, I would back it up to a few chapters earlier. Sometimes I'd start at 113, or 115. I wasn't necessarily focusing on the words - simply letting them fall into the air and pick up a phrase here or there which might settle in my soul.  Somehow, in some way, my mind was clear enough at one point to actually hear  what Psalm 1...

 I recently read an article that referenced something about 'the true, the good, and the beautiful.' Isn't it a bit audacious to state anything about these 3 things? Isn't it a bit presumptuous? A bit, you know, not very inclusive? I mean, who gets to say what is true, (like, is it only 'your truth'?), what is good ('what's good for me may not be good for you!'), or what's beautiful? Just referencing these three things, without qualifiers, without inclusive language and disclaimers, is bold, daring and even more than a bit assertive. It says, in essence that truth exists without qualifiers. That goodness exists without my deeming something good. And that beauty is more than simply in the eye of the beholder - that beauty exists alone, without me giving some special framework or caveat about my individual kind of artistic expression. I mean, I play at art, but I'm not sure I'd call it beautiful (nor would anyone else with any taste, I imag...

  Click here for the previous Jenny Story: (8) Jenny Sarah likes to take me on outings. She is careful to make sure my hair is neatly braided and the lint-balls are picked off. I am becoming worn-in. I was only new for about a year before I got to be smoother and squishier. Sometimes we go to the refugee camps, sometimes to the Home of Loving Faithfulness. And sometimes just to the market.  The Home of Loving Faithfulness is a big house and Sarah will go with her parents to visit the children who live there. In Hong Kong sometimes a baby is born broken and the parents don't want the baby. Then there is nowhere for the baby to go, and one day some missionary women from England thought, 'These poor children need love and care. We'll begin a home for them to be taken care of and to show them that God cares about them.' And that's what they did. Sarah will bring me to all her friends there and let me sit on their laps and say hello.  Sarah lives in her imagination somet...

 (This is me trying to tell my story through new eyes...) Jenny I was made long ago in a far-away place by a loving, elderly woman. She stitched me and stuffed me and carefully embroidered my bright blue eyes and wove together my rust-red yarn hair, into two neat little braids that hung thickly and tightly just over my shoulders. I have a plain blue dress and a sweet half-smile - permanently fixed on my white fabric face. Somehow, I was delivered to my playmate and best friend.  It was a journey of many miles, stuffed in a suitcase, carried and delivered by a stranger who was going to visit my new family. I could hardly wait to meet my new friend. Of course I didn't travel alone! My Maker also made my sister - Ming Ming. She had black hair and black almond-shaped eyes, to match her new friend, just like I matched mine. I loved having Ming Ming by my side and hoped we would continue to see much of each other in our new situation. I hoped my new friends would be gentle with me a...

 This is not going to be a blog about how 'we should be more hospitable.' If any of you know me by now, you can rest assured that I have no intent to 'should' you. Yes, I turned that into a verb. Sorry if I take license with the English language. Okay, not sorry after all. It seems the world is intent on should-ing us. The Christian sub-world has picked up this theme and gladly carries it forth - enter Spiritual Gifts 101 . I am no expert on human motivations (I leave that to philosophy and phenomenology academics), yet I am a bit of an expert of my own lack of motivation. And I am not generally very motivated by 'shoulds'. Likely, you aren't either. (Though I grant, many are, which is why it is such a popular motivational model).  My goal is never to 'should' anyone, (okay, exception here: my kids!!), but rather to explore life as it is, as God brings it to us, and as we stumble or with valiant courage, walk through the valleys and mountains of life...

Sometimes Sam and I will be discussing a matter and I have a viewpoint and he has a viewpoint. At a certain place in the conversation he will see my point, recognize that I was right all along and say, "You know, you're right about that!" to which I will soften, smile, relax and say, "I feel SO loved right now." Problem comes when I'm not always right, and I've had to learn that just because this is my love language doesn't mean I need to feel unloved whenever I'm wrong about something.  It just means I need to correct my views so I'm back in the right again.  Over the years this part of me - the need to be right - has had many shifts and transitions, and I've come to realize I've been more wrong than I've been right for the most part, which must mean that at this point I am the most right I'll ever be! Until tomorrow, of course, when new thoughts, ideas or knowledge will inform my dim view and I will come once again into ...

I have often said my love language is "Being Right" and people laugh until they realize I'm not kidding - I am actually serious.  That led me to reflect on the 5 Love Languages and come up with 5 that they seemed to miss.  I consider the 5 Love Languages as kind of a primer - like the primary colours, and my 2nd 5 as the more nuanced, but no less significant love languages.  I won't comment what I think of the book, its author or why I like or dislike the concept.  I only mention it because my 5 kind of tag on to the first 5. Just an overview: The 5 Love Languages promotes the idea of learning and speaking both your own and your loved one's love 'language' - the way he or she primarily receives and gives love, in the most intuitive sense.  The 5 are described as: 1. Words of Affirmation (whether spoken or written) 2. Acts of Service 3. Gifts 4. Quality Time 5. Physical Touch Once you have those down - in that you understand how to use them to...

There was a child once born; her mother, a 19 year-old girl from the bush of Zambia.  She labored long, on a hot day in December, on a thinly padded, metal-framed, basic hospital bed - routinely checked and encouraged.  She was stoic, quiet, patient in her travails.  I watched and encouraged - I listened to her silent efforts and saw her face as she waited.  I held the Pinard Horn to detect the foetal heartbeat - the old instrument, still useful in the absence of reliable electricity, to determine if the baby is under distress.  I could hear the gentle thud of the heartbeat - faster than the mother's - and anticipated the moments to come - welcome this child to the world; even a sparse and unpredictable world, where a young single mother would face hardship in finding her way with a small infant. I had my own baby, Caleb, who was 6 months old at the time.  He was being looked after a few paces away while I assisted at this delivery.  My memories of ...

Why is my Dining Room Pink? Pink is the colour of little girls and confident men Hues to catch evening's glowing warmth Reflecting hope of hours to feast In table fellowship with family and friends. "No one paints a dining room pink" Not so...I do. A child's imagination never dies A woman harbours a little girl "Come Gather At Our Table" Announces the archway Inviting and welcoming all  To sit in the pink surroundings To turn from the four walls to the faces before us Tonight I will open my home _ My pink dining room Complete with gold-glitter 60's flooring (Soon to be no more)... And I will live a fairy-tale dream A haven of warmth will shelter the guests Tea warm and steamy Banana Bread to comfort And Pink to be just a little bit different.

In case anyone is in doubt, I'll just put this out there: I need a LOT of help. I am not type A or even type B. By the time you get to X, Y or Z...I'm in there somewhere. I've always been scatter-brained - I still have some of my report cards which repeatedly pointed out my daydreaming habits. So, I'm sure you will be surprised to find out that I struggle with a thing called Chronic Disorganization. Combine that with a thing called A.D.D., (I like to think of that as Alternately Designed Diva), and a few other acronyms and labels that are especially helpful in addressing my various issues, and you get ME. That is my preface to the rest of what I'm about to put here. I'm posting this partly because it is so entertaining...but also because I am exceedingly grateful for the delightful person who wrote the response - who helped me out in my distress some time ago. Not only did she help me address a potentially riddled-with-relational-mines interaction, with hilar...

Bananas. It seems a crime to run out of them at our house.  The perfect on-the-go snack - all-natural packaging, densely caloric.  And when you get too many and they start to ripen, and friends are about to come over and you need to whip out a cake in no time...bananas to the rescue. And when your kids need extra calories to pack on them for school lunches...bananas. And when you can't think of anything to eat - grab a banana.  Or make banana bread. I'm glad God invented the humble banana, and that people in their creativity invented banana recipes.  Food is interesting - we share recipes and forever link it to a person.  Every time I make banana bread I think of Robyn, who gave me the recipe.  And I have some recipes that are hand-written by faithful friends - seeing Becky's handwriting on my Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe always reminds me of the days in her kitchen when she was whipping up a batch and serving them warm and gooey fresh from the...

Today I am thankful for my husband, Sam. As I was reflecting on this post, I thought to myself, "Yeah, that's so generic...everyone is grateful for their husband, more or less."  And well they should be, I suppose (depending). But so what it's predictable and typical.  I'm still grateful for him.  I don't know that anyone else could've married me - seen all my weaknesses and failures and tough it out, work together, grow in acceptance and love and continue to honour the commitment of marriage.  Now, lest you think I am unreasonably self-deprecating...I am aware I have a few strengths too.  Just many of my strengths aren't super applicable to house-keeping and parenting (some surely are - but a hot-temper is a liability in the parenting department I daresay).  And I know I am a free-spirit and poetic, mystical, easy-going and not a control-freak (see - there are a few strengths).  But to marry an engineer, who doesn't typically revel in the fre...

Dear frustrated woman, So you did it.  You took charge.  You showed him.  Good for you. I understand - really, I do (on some level).  You watch him fill his body with junk.  You worry.  You beg, plead, convince, connive, determine what to do.  You love him SO much - you just wish he would consider how much you need him to be healthy - or at least try to be. A recent blog post was written to the man who got his Doritos whipped out from under his unsuspecting nose.  He then was presented with celery and health food. Now, it's your turn. And I, for one, don't condone what you did.  And I'm a wife. Let me make something clear to you: people rarely change when they are forced to.  And, when forced, the changes may be obvious and external, but rarely does inner change come about because someone was forced into it.  It CAN happen - like in prison.  But I'm not sure I'd advise it or call it ideal by any measure. I get th...

It is probably no surprise that I have a fascination (a combination of curiosity and respect) with the Amish.  They puzzle me and I think to myself, "Why would anyone live that way?"  And in the next thought I think, "Why doesn't everyone choose to live that way?"  Which only goes to show how bizarre my thought process can be.  One minute I lean one way, the next, I reconsider!   But because I find them peculiar and interesting I do often read about them.  Mind you, not the fiction, though I tried that and just couldn't stomach it.  I need not go into what I think of these pseudo-novels here, but suffice to say, it did little to satiate the desire I had to know of them - who they are, why they are, how they live etc.  When I want to learn something, I tend towards non-fiction material (though fiction can be helpful in many areas of growth and learning, to teach and inform us in ways we didn't realize were possible).  A few weeks ago, I pic...

One of the many reasons I blog is because I am compelled to share my life with others.  I know it is impersonal - and that face-to-face relationships are best, but at times I have a need to simply write. Although I am trained to be extroverted I am naturally more inclined to being a social hermit - my companions would be authors, dead or alive (but mostly dead).  Though this is a romantic notion (having intimate relationships with dead writers - of course, only in my imagination - because it seems they know  me and I know  them), it isn't enough.  I so badly wish it were enough.  I want to remain reclusive - kept safe from relationships that could actually involve risk and pain.  Though this is my instinctive desire, I don't believe it is healthy.  By keeping relationships away, and only interactive via writing or by reading dead people's stuff, others are missing out on ME (and, Oh, What. A. Loss. ! - tongue firmly in cheek).  But more impo...