Bees in My Bonnet

  Previous post: click here Let me back-track a bit. How far should I go? Should I go to the season of 9 months, waiting for our child to be born? About how that time of our lives, Sam was a full-time graduate student at Moody, and we had zero reliable income, while owning a house with a mortgage and raising our 2 young children? How we had to buy our own insurance, and maternity coverage would not begin until August 23, and how Timo's due-date was September 5? Should I go back to his birth, where I was so relieved to get past August 23 so our insurance would cover the birth, only to come down with fever and chills, and needing to be induced to bring him into the world, and going through labour and childbirth while running a fever of 102 degrees? Should I tell you about how 2 weeks later he began to vomit every feeding and exhibited all the signs of severe infant reflux? How he was not putting on weight because he vomited every feeding?  How it was like nursing twins because h...

 You can see that writing for me has ground to a screeching halt (probably literally, in the literal, not figurative, sense). It happened a year ago on this day, one day after Timo's 17th birthday. One year ago on this night, it was a night like any other. Routine. Normal. Kids doing kid things. Caleb and Priscilla back in their first couple weeks of college, away from us. Timo working his full-time tree-trimming job. He had just had a nasty incident with a wasps nest that had caused his entire arm to swell and had to spend a day in bed with fever and chills. He had so many stings we couldn't count them. He was on the mend from that. He had been back at work just a day or two, and the night before we had taken him to an all-you-can-eat dinner which he enjoyed with us - laughing and choosing his favorite foods - mostly meat. We were doing okay. I always carry my own melancholy, and hold a world within me, a reflective, prayerful, yearning. So a year ago, I suppose life was as st...

 I just began to journal...and it made me realize I never concluded the previous saga of the lost wallet. There is more  to that story, I tell you.  My journal began..."Sometimes I think my brain got fried. The ability - really, the capacity - of my soul to hold grief, pain, trauma, suffering, silencing - I'm guessing has been greater  than most. I used to think of myself differently; blaming myself for being weak, fragile, IN-capable. But if I honestly look at my life journey, I must arrive at a different conclusion than before.  I sacrificed myself on the altar of survival ." I stopped there.  Yes, that last line describes decades of my life. I needed to find a way through, a way to cope and survive as a mother of young children, in a struggling marriage, in a world that has normal everyday demands that a severely depressed person can barely hold up underneath. It's not the world's fault. It's not having children, or a husband, or any of these things that...

  I can't believe September is done. It feels like a gap in my year - that a whole 30 days was swallowed into some black hole or vortex of suffering. I don't know how all those days went by when I wasn't paying attention. On October 3, I usually remember the line in the sand of my life - that fateful day when I witnessed violence and fear like nothing I'd known before or since. (Link to that saga here)  It is one of those days - a before and after, where my life is forever marked as having crossed a bridge that can never be reversed. In other words, I can't unsee that.  This September feels strangely similar. Timo's motorcycle accident has thrown me face to face with the unpredictableness of all of life.  One moment I was heading to bed, the next, I'm riding an ambulance...it's still so surreal that I actually lived through this, and even more, that Timo did! And then two all-nighters, back to back. And to sit dazed in a hospital room, stunned, numb, and...

 I'm going to let a bee fly out of my bonnet just now, so brace yourself. The term 'Best Practice' annoys me. It annoys me A LOT. It has burned me. I've used it myself; I've had it promoted to me. I've seen it in research, in literature, in pseudo-guru-speak jargon. And now I think I finally have the courage to push back. Hang On a minute!! Isn't 'Best Practice' automatically, by its very literal nature, completely warranted as acceptable? Doesn't everyone want to follow 'Best Practice' in every situation? Actually, No. No, we don't. And I'll tell you why. Because it's arrogant, proud, assuming, and lacking in nuance. It lacks a 'here and now' understanding of things. Sure, there's probably times where 'best practice' is helpful. If you are a clinician of some sort, and following a static experimental process; if you are a professional whose work is to follow exacting procedures, fine, go ahead, and consult...

 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...

  Welcoming the Light Candle flickers, tea becomes cold Sitting, waiting expectantly. The fountain catches sunshine’s rays And I am reminded of the Fountain of life. Stillness in the air, quiet surrounds me, And God waits to be heard. " Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good and your soul will delight in the richest of fare." Oh there's a feast waiting,  Your words are sweeter than honey. I open my ears to His sound. Will His voice come to me? What if He says something fearful, Too heavy, too great for me to take in? "The voice of the Lord thunders." “Such thoughts are too wonderful for me;  Too lofty to attain…”  yet I yearn to expand my soul - That my heart be enlarged, That I might welcome Him with joy. "I will run in the way of your commandments, when You enlarge my heart." My heart expands. My feet take action. The sun emerges, bright, bold - unashamed Of its own radiance: “The heavens declare the glory of God” And I am instructed: The weight ...

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 ...

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 ...

Unanswered Questions. Today I am thankful that many of the questions we face in life remain unanswered.  Why would I ever be grateful for such a thing?  Glad you asked. If every struggle were met with a pat answer - a manual of 'here's the how and why and what of every question ever' - the inquisitive side of me might lose vigor.  I might fall flat, mope about, unmotivated to seek, to discover, to find.  I'd have all the answers, and I'd live blinded to the journey of discovery. That's why. Because unanswered questions invite trust, faith, learning, engagement, hope, surrender, joy, peace.  The unknown can be scary.  The unanswered questions can cause tension, confusion - pain, even.  To me, the unanswered questions sit, not begging an answer (though on the surface, that's how it seems - but need I remind you, things aren't always what they seem?), but begging to be noticed, heard, pondered.  What do my questions say about me?  What...

Dear Readers, I have to address this matter of communication. It is a big bee in my bonnet - dozens of them actually, buzzing to get out. I want to sit everyone down and affirm that yes, communication in all relationships is very important. Without it, I don't believe, we have any real relationship. So let's all agree that working on communication skills is important, essential, helpful and all the rest... agreed? Okay, let's move on. Now, here's the dilemma. In relationships we will all differ. We will not agree on everything all the time. This is what makes each of us unique and special and what gives relationships that wonderful rush - to discover that someone different from me actually cares or/and wants to engage in meaningful relational activities with me (like, communicating, for one). Relationships that thrive allow each person much freedom to be who he/she is, to bring to the table the totality of his/her thoughts, feelings, opinions, joys, sorrows, idea...