I am where I need to be....

 "I am where I need to be?"  The words were a question, as much as a statement to calm my (briefly) panicked heart, to my friend and passenger.  We were headed home from a show at a nearby town and the weather had taken another turn- I swear these last few weeks feel like winter has hoarded the snow for the whole of its season and now feels the need to unload it all before finally completely giving way to spring.

We had been weathering a second nasty spring storm and I spent two days watching the forecast and road reports before deciding we would make the 65 km drive to Fort Macleod's historic Empress Theatre (one of my favorite venues for live performances).  The drive there was ok, the roads were snow covered, but passable, with some extra caution.  But it snowed the whole time we were in the theatre.  This meant fresh, loose snow, which was fine, until a semi flew by, kicking up that snow and leaving me blind for a long enough moment to hesitate.  This happened several times, without serious incident, until I asked that question - as when the last cloud had settled I saw I was headed for a snow bank and the ditch between the east and west lanes of traffic.  I breathed a prayer of thanks that we were still on the highway, and steered back into the lane.  Then I asked my companion, "I am where I need to be?"  She confirmed my statement and we continued on.  The remainder of the drive was uneventful, and we all arrived home safe and sound.

Several days after that incident I was watching the stars come out, as I try to do most evenings, letting my mind wander and process how I'm feeling, things that have happened, just the "stuff" of life.  I'm not  given to overthinking, but I do like to take time to review and assess, to listen for that "still, small voice" that is so often drowned out by the noise of everyday life.  It was in those moments this question came back to me on a much deeper level.  Am I where I need to be?  I like to think that I am, that I was set in the job I have, among the people - friends, clients, colleagues, I interact with day by day, for a purpose.  I have said that I believe I have walked through the things I have walked through, for a purpose, to allow me to say to those walking similar paths, that there is a way, hold fast and keep moving forward, so that YOU can in turn light the way.

And then I wondered about it more.  I still believe all that, I do, and yet, lately I've been feeling a little lost and alone, even invisible.  My world is shifting again, as my daughter prepares to leave home for the first time (months away yet, but only a moment too).  The last time I met with my girlfriend group I felt desperately outside the circle.  That is likely more about me than them, being a few years older, with very divergent tastes and hobbies, but that's a story for another time.  I will say, that not for the first time, as I drove home though I wondered if I were outgrowing them.

Am I where I need to be?  I like my job, believe in what we do, I consider several of my coworkers friends.  I am content and active in my church.  My children are grown, becoming successful adults, so I can rest in a job well done.  It is not yet time to take on the mantle of Grandmother.   And I like who I am.  I generally enjoy my solitude, even as I look with some trepidation about facing the next phase of my life alone - only because I don't easily make friends and I am quite uncomfortable in large groups of people.  My son teases me that once my daughter leaves home I'll just get another cat!  Cats suit me - quiet and solitary, independent but affectionate (on their own terms).

I am where I need to be.  The Great I AM has laid my path before me, He has led me through storms and deserts before and he will again.  I trust there will be an oasis around the next bend in the road if I will only trust the guide book.  I've been trying to walk on water since I was a kid, and one day I will.

Justice and Mercy

 He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. 

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

Justice & Mercy. Justice AND Mercy.  These two words have been echoing in my head for days now.  At least since Victims Services contacted me Friday afternoon to confirm the sentencing hearing for the woman who attacked me last summer would be going ahead on Tuesday afternoon.  It's a complicated set of emotions I'm feeling right now.  Relief at finally drawing a line under the incident, oddly disappointed there will be no trial (something in my heart and head wants definitive answers to "WHY?" - something I long ago realized we may never have this side of Heaven to a lot of things)  And tumble of other emotions, largely sorrow that my family and friends have had to suffer this too, and something else I can't define, because somehow I'm actually okay.  (In truth though I DO know why, or how, I'm okay.  That would be, quite simply, Jesus. Holy Spirit, my Father dispatching angels to my side that awful day)

The dictionary defines justice as the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness and mercy as compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one's power; compassion, pity, or benevolence.

We so often speak of justice when what we mean is closer to revenge and a cry for punishment, and punitive punishment at that.  Mercy doesn't even come in to it.  Do I believe that crimes and misdeeds don't require consequences and punishment? Not at all.  There must be consequences to our actions and punishment for our crimes.  

And yet we ALL mis-step and break the rules sometimes -albeit rules without much impact on society as a whole and with no repercussions.

Since my recovery, miraculously speedy, I have had many, many conversations with people about the eventual legal outcome of the events.  Apart from me, those intimately affected - my friends and colleagues, my sisters, all want vengeful, "throw the book" at her punishment.  "Lock her up, throw away the key", let her suffer immensely for what she did.  I get it. I do. And yet I'm torn.  Weird, I know, and very hard to explain, but let me try.  Do I want her punished? Without a doubt.  I am hoping for a long sentence, running consecutive, not concurrent, for every charge.  But I am also hoping she gets help. Real, long lasting psychological help. Do I think mental illness excuses her behaviour? Absolutely not.  She was tested - and I know she had a plan, thought out and executed; she did not "snap" one day and suffer a mental break. But I watched her devolve, heard the desperation that led her to think there was no other way out.  And I firmly believe no one should ever feel so alone.   And so I sit on some metaphoric fence, my ethics and belief systems at a tug of war with my need for retribution.  And there lies mercy.  Compassion - or rather, pity.  My understanding of the need for forgiveness (I'm not there yet).  

I admit too, that I am angry.  Not for what she did to me - not that I don't have reason to be.  I just learned a long time ago not to waste energy on regret.  I did my job, and I would do it again.  I am angry that the staff in our office had offered her nothing but kindness and compassion; we were working to help her find her way out of a bad situation, and she spat on all of that, ground it under her heel.  And in doing that potentially barred the way for countless others to find the help we offer.  A less resilient team would have folded, they rallied and found a way to move forward.  Today, people have to navigate locked doors and plexiglass shields, and my friends live with anxiety and fear of raised voices, of angry, hurting language, and the very broken people we are there to help.  And yet we go on.  Offer words of hope and comfort, the navigational tools to find the way through.

I'm not as good as I should be, abiding by the requirements mentioned in the verse I quoted.  But I am trying, and the closer I come to walking humbly with my God, the easier it is to seek, and recognize, real justice, and to love mercy.  I have to trust too in Romans 12:19: Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.   At the end of the day, I don't want the responsibility if I'm honest.  I'm too quick to judge, too ruled by emotion, too ready to hold every one to my own personal standard.   God's justice, while much slower than I'd like, is far more perfect, and tempered with His mercy.  And I know that come what may my assailant will have to live forever with the knowledge of what she tried to do to me.  God's plan for my life is just bigger than hers was.

Be well friends, and may you ever have justice and mercy in equal measure

Be Still - The Battle Against Busyness

We live in an increasingly busy world, and have become human doings not human beings.  Scroll through the internet for more than 5 minutes and you will stumble over posts of people in their picture perfect houses with their picture perfect families; showing you "life hacks" to simplify some random task you probably didn't realize was problematic.  People brag, oddly, about how tired they are, how busy and overworked or overwhelmed.  I have never quite understood this.  This is the "Cult of Busy", a phrase I know I stole from somewhere, just don't ask me where.  

One of my favourite Bible verses is Habakkuk 2:20: "The Lord is in His holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him".  Like it, and also a favourite is Psalm 46:10a: "Be still and know that I am God".  Having done a little research (very little, but still...) I know the stillness called for here is not necessarily quite in line with my private interpretation, but I think it stands.  In a world so chaotic and busy a little stillness is often called for.  Personally it is something I cherish - the early morning hour before my day starts (once before my children were up and about), a meditative soak under the stars at the end of the day have become sacred bookends to my days.  I enjoy the silence, the quiet, alone with my thoughts, in communion with something much bigger than me.  

In a world overflowing with busy - the demands of work and family, of bills to pay, a household to manage, exams to prepare for - whatever your stresses might be - taking a moment to pause through the day may seem impossible.  We can all start to feel like there just aren't enough hours in the day, or days in the week.  And this is why I think it's so important to set aside time to just breathe, to be grateful for what you have, and maybe even what you don't have!  I know the days I don't get up a little earlier than I'd like to read a devotion or two and pray, to savour a good cup of coffee in the stillness the day comes at me in a rush and I feel far more scattered and impatient, less able to cope with even the most ordinary of unexpected crises.  And taking a few minutes at the end of the day, to breathe and process the day's events gives me peace for a good night's rest.  Some of this is simple self care, a lot of it is reconnecting with the Source of my peace and strength.  Taking time for myself, to pray, to meditate, to just breathe feeds my soul.  Why do we believe we need to wait for that two week vacation that comes with its own stresses of budget and travel and packing?  And I do look forward to my vacations, whether they are on a beach with my sisters or reading on my deck with a cold beer, lest you think I'm saying vacations aren't important.  

Taking time out daily feeds the soul, and, despite what my friends who say there are deadlines and just so much to do, lets you get more done, not less, because you've given yourself a chance to recentre, to reconnect, to clear the cobwebs and consider what really matters.  I can hear several of my friends, and my lovely daughter too, telling me they don't like to be alone with their thoughts.  I have been there, turning on the TV for company as soon as I walked through the door.  I know all about the whispers and lies that can shout even louder if we don't drown them out with doing, with noise and distractions.  And what if we - just for a moment- stood still in the silence?  What if we stopped fleeing those murmuring voices we're so busy trying to drown out with distraction and noise of our own?  Maybe we'd begin to see them for what they are, whining mosquitos not shrieking pterodactyls.  And you can swat a mosquito.  Centering yourself, being comfortable with the quiet, with the pause, what peace it will bring, what strength and sureness.

I challenge you today to find even five minutes to be still.  Now, since I feel like I've lost my train of thought, I'll sign off, and pick up more about being still in my next post.

Where are your feet planted?

 Stretching limbs

Toward Heaven;

A cloudless summer sky

River clear and sparkling,

Ribbon of song

Storm clouds threaten,

The laughing river

Swells

A raging torrent;

The song now an angry roar

In the midst of this

The tree stands firm

Roots deep beneath the floodplain

Unmoved

Stretching Heavenward

Only kissed by rain.

(November 2011)

I have been toying with what my next post was supposed to be for almost 2 weeks now.  What I keep coming back to is my roots.  I was reviewing some old posts earlier this week and came across this poem, attached to a post about the depth of our roots.  

I have a funny affection for dandelions.  I know, I know, no one wants these pesky little plants springing up in their lawns and gardens, but take a step back with me for a moment.  Bright dandelion flowers are among the first harbingers of spring.  No one minds if children pluck them.  I've never sampled them, but I hear dandelion greens are tasty, and that the roasted roots make a fair substitute for coffee (although I'd argue that for some things there is no substitute).  I have read that dandelions thrive where the soil is poor, and help regenerate it.  What I do know is that dandelions thrive in the most inhospitable places, forcing their way through concrete, resisting gardeners' efforts to eradicate them.

I like that.  Brilliantly showy, resisting removal, and gone to seed carrying wishes to the sky.

Maybe it's a bit of a stretch for you, especially if you've spent much time on your knees digging their seemingly endless roots out of the grass, to see them a a metaphor for resilience.

Often when we're asked about our roots we refer to our family trees, whether we dig into genealogy or put stock in our forefathers and mothers ethnicity, or we just know a little about our grandparents' stories.    Maybe our families are sources of pain and regret rather than strength.  Were you taught to nurse your wounds or dust yourself off and keep moving?   

But for some of us there is a root system that goes even deeper.  I was raised going to church every Sunday.  I may have wandered from my Roman Catholic upbringing, but those roots remain, informing my personal faith today.  It would be almost impossible for me to leave behind all that I was taught, and all I absorbed even when the Mass went far beyond my childish understanding.  The need for reverence, and ritual, for the comfort of the familiar, even as I have stepped into a church (I won't say religious - because to my mind religion is about rules and not relationships - a weird point of argument I know) system that goes deeper, into a relationship with a very real and very present loving God.    But I digress.  I'm terribly good at that!  When I got hurt this past summer I wound up in the ICU.  It was expected, once it became clear I would recover, I would be there for several weeks.  In a matter of days I was moved to the regular ward, and in just over a week (eight days, in fact) I was sent home.  When the surgeon came in to remove the tracheotomy and discharge me asked about my support systems at home - both for my physical and psychological care, without hesitation I told him that not only do I have a great network of friends and family supporting me, but I know where my feet are planted.

I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, who I am as a follower of Jesus.  I know that God loves me as a beloved child, and my feet are firmly planted on the Rock that is my faith.  Like the precocious and tenacious dandelion, I will rise again every time life knocks me down, bloom brightly and spread hope and joy on the wind.

So, as the snow finally gives way and you begin to see those bright yellow harbingers of spring, when you see those tenacious leaves pushing their way through the cracks in the sidewalk, smile a little and take the lesson of perseverance.  And don't forget to make an audacious wish when you blow those fluffy white seeds into the breeze.

Forgive Yourself

We've all played the game of "What if".  It can be an amusing pastime to speculate on how our lives might look if we had chosen some other path - married the other guy, didn't marry the one we did, chose another career path, on and on.  On the other hand it can be deadly to our self esteem as we look too long in the rear view mirror and wonder "if only".   I mentioned in my last post about being replaced in my husband's affections, and for a long time beat myself up for not being tall, thin, a wide-eyed ingenue.  Obviously I couldn't be younger, and being blonde would just look silly, but I wished I could have been other than I was.  I did realize that I am pretty awesome just as I am (not to say I probably could use a bit of improvement here and there) and his failure to see what makes me special is a fault of his not mine.  I actually find it amusing to write that statement since one of the things that drove him nuts as a people pleaser was that I am not.  Take me as I am, no apologies.  If you don't like me, that's on you.  The paradox is unfathomable, but it is part and parcel of our human condition.

All of this is to say, when we consider who we need to forgive, and why we need to, we need to first look in the mirror.  I think often the things that upset us most in others is the trait or habit we like least in ourselves.  Oh, not always.  Sometimes it's a thing that reminds us to closely of someone in our past who caused us pain, but that is not my point today.

You have probably heard the adage "Love your neighbour as yourself" (Mark 12:31) even if you don't turn to Bible passages as a part of your personal creed.  But have you ever considered how hard it is to do this if you don't love yourself first?  I'm not advocating selfish, self-serving narcissism, but a genuine understanding that you are valuable, beautiful, that your opinions matter, that you deserve kindness and respect.  The corollary of this is equally true.  Until you forgive yourself your faults and failures it will be difficult, if not impossible, to forgive anyone else.   If you happened upon someone mistreating or speaking ill of someone you cared about would you not interrupt them with what you knew to be the truth?  Perhaps a kind explanation of why they had acted the way the did?  Of course you would.  When your friend says she's stupid, or fat, or ugly, a bad mom - the list goes on - do you not tell her she is in fact beautiful, kind, wiser than she knows, a good mom who's doing her best?  Can you not afford the same courtesy to yourself?  If you're a mother yourself (or a dad, this is irrespective of gender) do you want to model to your children self rejection?  

We have all made mistakes.  Been in relationships we never should have been in, or gotten out of sooner.  We have all felt rejected for being exactly who we are - which drives us to wear a mask, to pretend to be other than who we are (which is exhausting in it's own right, and makes us hate ourselves even more!).  We lose our tempers with our kids, or feed them McDonald's three times some weeks.  Look in the mirror.  Look into your eyes, deep.  See the hurting, broken person hiding there, and forgive them.  We are all doing the best we can with what we know today.  Tomorrow, when you know better, do better.

I can hear you.  You're telling me I don't understand.  I do.  I have spoken out of turn and been misunderstood.  I have felt badly for not having money to give my kids stuff, for being too tired to cook another meal no one was going to eat and making KD and hot dogs or chicken nuggets, again.  The specifics of your story will differ from mine, but the truth is we're all doing our best, playing the hand we have been dealt.  It's ok, you're ok, just keep putting one foot in front of the other and move forward.

Forgiveness

 Oh, forgiveness.  No sweeter gift, few more difficult commands.  

I struggled for several days, on where to begin in explaining (for lack of a better word) the foundations of my strength and fortitude.  And then it became clear that forgiveness was where I needed to start.  And then I tried to understand why here, why not with The Rock on which my feet are firmly planted, the faith I choose to walk in every day.  Why not love, or peace, or choosing joy?  It came to me last night, a rare night where sleep eluded me.  Forgiveness was the first lesson I learned when I had to find my feet again after my world was torn apart by betrayal and divorce.  

It was 27 years ago now.  My husband and I had two beautiful little boys and we had hit a "rough patch".  I thought we were finding our way through and was, in my head, beginning to make plans for a 10 year anniversary celebration.  And then I learned about the affair.  She was my friend, a girl I loved and mentored; our babysitter.  Everything I was not - younger, blonde, tall, slender, interested in his favourite hobbies.  Everything I had built my life around, all the things I thought I could rely on - love, loyalty, friendship, came crashing down around me.  I cried that night until I literally could not see.  

In the immediate aftermath he and I oddly got alone fairly well.  My mother kept telling me to get angry, afraid, I think, that I would just roll over and meekly accept what he would decide was my due.  Eventually we found a house for me to move in to, and once we were officially separated and I learned she had moved in with him on the very heels of my departure.  It was then that fury overtook me.  I was almost irrational; I relished every story from acquaintances who encountered the two of them telling me how awful they looked.  I could barely be civil.

I don't know how long it took until my anger exhausted me.  I began to realize that that was all I talked about - the wrongs done to me, with little acknowledgement of my own wrongdoing.  I felt very alone, and I had begun to define myself as divorced, as a rejected woman.  I adored my sons, but had become the weekend parent; he had day to day care and I didn't know who I was outside of wife and mother.  

I distinctly remember the day I was looking at myself in the mirror - and I did not like the girl staring back at me.  All I could see was hurt and bitterness, there was no joy or hope left.  I was blank and empty.  A few days later I sat down for coffee with my pastor and told him I knew I needed to forgive them to move forward but I didn't know how.  "How do I forgive?"  I asked.  I wanted a plan, steps to take, a checklist - something that made sense.  What he told me left me even more perplexed and frustrated, disappointed.  "Just put it on the back burner," he said.  Let it alone.  This was not the answer I wanted.  I wanted action.  But I tucked his words away and kept trying to rediscover me.  

Again, I don't know how long, but some time later I woke up from a strange dream, and I had that weird sensation you get when your ears are plugged and they finally "pop".  You don't realize your hearing has been muffled until it isn't any more.  And in that moment I realized I had somehow let all the hurt and bitterness go.

I'd like to tell you it was just that easy.  Truth is it was an ongoing thing.  Somewhere along the way we learned to work together as parents.  Our sons are grown and we have been able to visit amicably at graduations, weddings and funerals.  His marriage to her didn't last, and several years ago I received a letter from her apologizing, asking my forgiveness, admitting she finally realized what I had suffered.  And I was able to honestly reply that I had forgiven her years before and had found my own level ground.  I've learned, slowly, to acknowledge my hurts, put them aside and forgive - and it (usually) has gotten easier.

Forgiveness is no easy thing.  People will hurt us, almost always those closest to us, the ones we have entrusted with our most vulnerable selves.   Sometimes we can just walk away from the person who hurt us, close the door, end the relationship - but without forgiving the wrong the wound will fester and poison your heart as surely as arsenic.  We hear it said "forgive and forget", and perhaps that's where so many of us struggle with forgiving.  Somehow we got the notion that forgiving someone is saying what they did to us was okay.  But the truth is the opposite.  The wrong that was done remains wrong, and we should be mindful of it as we rebuild boundaries.  Perhaps that person needs to be held at arm's length now, no longer allowed the same intimacies, perhaps they need to be fenced off completely.  Forgiveness sets us free to move forward, no longer shackled to past wrongs.

We cannot hold on to hurt waiting for apologies or acknowledgement.  Like the jerk who cuts you off on the highway, leaving you cursing and gesticulating in anger or fear, he has no idea of your distress, he is blithely motoring along.  You alone are upset, and your raging is affecting your passengers-those who did you no wrong.  I am not saying we should not feel hurt or angry, or that we are not justified in wanting to be avenged.  But we cannot live there, it will soon become a prison of our own making and will colour our responses to other relationships - it may in fact cause us to misread benign comments an actions as negative.  

I'm no expert.  I have no degrees or accreditations.  But I have lived this.  And the story I shared was not an isolated event.  I wish I could say I never got hurt again.  But there were other loves, other friends, people I trusted, respected, relied on, who let me down, betrayed me, rejected me.  And some I am still learning to forgive.  I think I've moved on and some memory brings it all rushing back.

You may ask what you can do to aid the process.  I can only tell you what has worked for me.  I write letters.  I don't send them.  But I pour out all my anger and hurt feelings, outline all the wrongdoing I feel has been leveled at me.  I weep and rage and shake my fist at Heaven (He can take it, I promise).  I have letters stashed away, and some I have burned.  Others I have folded carefully and marked with a cross, telling myself to leave the hurt there, at the foot of the cross.  My oldest and dearest friend tells me she adds another step to this - she then writes the reply she needs to hear, the apology, the regret, the acknowledgement of the grief. 

I suppose you might by now be asking what forgiveness, learning to forgive, being (relatively) quick to forgive, has to do with internal fortitude, with my ability to recuperate so quickly after the trauma of this past summer and to live without the trauma everyone wants to assume I must carry.  There are two important facts here.  One, the woman who attacked me doesn't matter enough for me to carry her in my heart.  She didn't target me, I was just the means to an end, and end she didn't get.  Secondly, forgiving negates the power your assailant has over you.  I'm sure you've heard it said that holding a grudge is like letting someone live rent free in your head.  Letting that go, forgiving the wrong evicts them and keeps them from taking up precious space in your heart.  Eventually  when you trip across that person, whether in conversation or in real life, you will find they just don't matter.  Your heart won't clench in your chest, your blood won't run cold (or hot, depends on whether the wound caused anger or fear).  Maybe laughing about it might be a stretch for now, but you can take the lesson and move forward. 

Forgiveness is far from easy.  I apologize if I seem blithe, if you feel like I don't understand your particular circumstance.  And often them first person we need to forgive is ourselves. And that, I think, will be my next post.  

Miss You

 I still miss you.  

Sometimes.

Or, maybe,

I miss the Idea of You,

of the future I envisioned. 

A future of children, grandchildren, of companionable silences

  of adventures, conversations, a hand to hold....

But when I seek my bed at night, heart heavy with loneliness,

   longing to be held, to be heard and seen -

I remember.

I remember all the nights I wept alone,

ached to be understood

while you slept, careless.

I remember the lonely hours with you; the disappointment and hurt.

All the times I needed you to run to me

  and you sauntered instead.

All the excuses I made for you,

excuses that sounded falser with every repetition....

And yet.  And yet -

I still miss you, sometimes.

 It's hard to believe it has been almost 5 1/2 years since I last took the time to actually scribe a post.  I could offer a thousand excuses - from losing my mom to a long battle with metastic breast cancer in late 2017 to moving house at the start of 2018; dealing with my teenaged daughter's battle with depression and anxiety and her sexual assault (and was that a cause of or the result of the depression?).  My oldest son convocated from York University in 2019 - proud mama moment there, and married in 2020.  Life is always busy and interesting.  There are so many excuses I could offer, and none of them are truly valid.  Life just got away from me - I was busy just getting through my days.  But here we are at the start of a brand new year, so I think it's time to begin again. Again.

In July of last year, an ordinary Thursday afternoon at the office, a distraught client came in, demanding to speak with the lawyer who was handling her domestic violence matter.  He was not in, and she subsequently took me hostage, and eventually attacked me with a knife, stabbing me multiple times in the throat, neck, scalp and arm.  You can read more about that in the links below (there are others as well)  I won't take up space here with that story.  I've told it many times, and it would be a post in and of itself.  But those events gave me time to consider what I am supposed to be doing here.  Considering the many conversations I have before, and since, I think one of those purposes is to try and share the source of my strength and some of the reasons I look at life the way I do.  

I cannot claim to have all the answers (oh, that I did!) or to have done any academic research.   I have not.  I've lived my life.  I've observed and read, gleaning what I found useful.  Forgive me, my atheist and agnostic friends, I make no apologies for my Christian viewpoint, but understand there is no judgement implied.  And if you have been offended or wounded by those who call themselves followers of Jesus, allow me to apologize on their behalf.  I think they often have the wrong end of the proverbial stick.  But that's a matter for another day.  Take me and my thoughts for what I am - a little confused, quite sarcastic (and sometimes caustic), still figuring out who I am and who I want to be, but sure that one of my callings is to shine some light into the darkness, to say, "it's going to be ok," and "you got this", whatever "this" happens to be.  I apologize if my posts are muddled, I'll try to work through one thing at a time, but I'm quite sure there will be crossover - but I have to start and let the plan reveal itself as I go.  It was my one (ok, one of many) bad habits writing in school - I'd write, then muddy it up to look like a draft, then draft an outline.  I'm a "consider the material, dive in and sort the details later" kind of writer.  If I ever write a book I'll need a phenomenal editor!

So here we go!

Hostage survivor thanks first responders for saving her life | Lethbridge News Now

The Lethbridge Hostage Victim tells the story of their survival - Alberta News (canadatoday.news)

Solitude

Gathering my solitude around my shoulders

     Like armor

shielding myself from what I don't know

              being unseen, unheard, forgotten?

Like a shroud

       burying myself in invisibility

so no one can wound me again

Long have I worn this garment, it fits like another skin

and yet, some days, it weighs heavy,

                        chain mail, not silk

tight about my throat choking me like tears that will not flow

bending my shoulders, chafing at those still tender wounds

I steel myself to face dragons

                         real and imagined

Armor carefully polished, gleaming in the sun;

Solitude now a cloak draped from my shoulders, lifting in the breeze

Can they, will they, see me now?

     Will they, can they, hear me?

             - the laughter and the silent cries

                              

                   Do you see me reaching, grasping, hoping?

   Or will I remain here?

 On my own, Alone.

Burning Bridges

No one is an island,

so the poets say

We are all connected

Below the bridge between us

water once laughed, dancing over stones

Now the current sighs, steam rising from the icy flow

Where we once stood, shoulder to shoulder

watching paper boats sail out to sea,

under my feet now the boards,

once so solid and sure

are charred and brittle.

They crumble in the wind,

spiraling down, dark barges

drifting into the fog

Careless embers lit the fire....

A haven, steadfast, true, irrevocably damaged.

I kneel over the smoldering chasm

barring the way to your shuttered garden,

and wild brambles spring up

over the path to my own sheltered hearth

Sleepwalking

Sleepwalking

         invisible, unseen,

silent and unheard

Heart aching,

    hands trembling

       eyes misted; one blink will betray me

choking on words I cannot speak, will not confess,

for admission lifts them from the shadows

         gives them flesh

 

Keeping to the shadows

       I creep into your courts;

Music is a balm to a weary soul

        the pain, the fear, the doubt

           the emptiness

                melts away,

Shadows dissolve in light

Bread and wine; a banquet,

            satiates

The torpor begins to dissipate;

Your touch, your voice soothe a troubled heart.....

Peace is fleeting

           Around me the teeming crowds flows

          Vague smiles never reach eyes

I remain invisible, unseen, silent, and unheard

But the shadows have faded,

the memory of your hand is still warm on my back.

Feast With Me

This past Sunday the sermon was about the familiar 23 Psalm.  It is beautiful in its simplicity, and in the depths and layers of meaning it holds.   Several years ago I wrote about it myself,   I cannot begin to count the number of messages I have heard, or read, on these few familiar verses.  And every time there is something new to learn.  

When I wrote on it in 2011 it was the word "through" ("Through the valley...") I was focused on.

My mom had just begun cancer treatment again and we were all terrified.  We still are, but here it is 5 years later, and she's still fighting.  It may not yet be the miracle we're hoping for, but it is a miracle nonetheless.

But lately, for the past several weeks, actually, I have this picture in my mind of a great, long table, covered with a rich, snowy white cloth, shimmering Irish linen.  The table sits in the middle of a field of emerald green grass, waving in the summer breeze.  The sky overhead is cloudless and blue.  Sometimes the table is bare, waiting to be set, but I know there is fine china, heavy silver, delicate crystal to be laid in preparation.  Other times the glass ware and silver gleams in the sun and the array of dishes boggles the mind.  It is a banquet beyond comparison, beyond description.

We don't throw dinner parties like that any more. And it's a shame.  Setting a beautiful table, serving carefully prepared dishes....what a wonderful way to honour  our guests, be they family or friends.  And what a reminder of the Wedding Supper we are all anticipating, such beauty and bounty beyond imagination.  

This particular poem may seem rather unrelated to the feast I am describing.  In fact I wrote it as something of a challenge.  And yet as I wrote it I could still see that table stretching out under the summer sun.  

Under a canopy of velvet blue and satin green

On a fragrant cushions

Serenaded by redwing blackbirds, meadowlarks and dragonflies

Kisses light as summer breezes

Let me serve you exotic nectar

from my own cup,

drink rich wine from yours

Feast on thews

The sustenance of passion

I am faint with hunger

Feed me with honeyed words

Lush fruits,

Bounty of plowing and planting

Bread and wine

And after the feast

simplest pleasures,

sweetest fare

and richest

Drift to dreams

Under a canopy of velvet blue and dappled green

on fragrant cushions

Serenaded by blackbirds, meadowlarks and honeybees

caressed by summer's breeze

http://viewfromhere68.blogspot.ca/2011/06/i-walk-through-valley.html

Tag....You're it!

Tag! You're It!

          And we flee shrieking with laughter

tumbling carefree

                   over knolls, through the trees

Underducking the swings

            dashing high into the cloud dazzled summer sky

caroming down the scorching slide

               up and down again the see saw

breathless we collapsed in the shade of the solid classroom wall,

bouncing balls, hula hoops, jump ropes,

Red Rover, Red Rover, Duck, Duck, Goose

Endless childhood, rivalries renegotiated every recess

innocent and fierce.

Tag, you're it....

           and we flee, sighing with passion

stumbling careless

               over tussocks, through the a shady grove

Following a merry dance

                    whirling under a star strewn sky

whispering secrets to the silent virgin moon

                      spinning, dizzy and still so sure

I don't dare stop,

     if I stop I'll fall,

                       and falling hurts...

Can't you see the scars on my heart?

The skinned knees of my soul?

“Catch me if you can....”

dashing away again

you open your arms to me

wide and welcoming

waiting for me to catch you.

The Empty Pantry

Yet another year has come and gone, and its trials and triumphs are now largely memories.  The dawn of a new year brings reflection, and an inherent time to pause.  We set our house back to "normal" today, packing up all the Christmas decorations, setting them aside for another 11 months.  The house feels airier, freer; but maybe we just have regained some space; and having packed away those festive trimmings, and properly cleaned the house for last night's dinner guests this is simply underlined.

New Year's Eve Emily and I went to a house party to ring in the new year with friends.  It was the first year she was actually able to stay up and see the proverbial ball drop.  Truthfully it's the first time in years I have done it too.  Most years I opt for a glass of wine on the couch with the comedy specials or a movie and call it a night well before midnight.  In any case we had fun.
That night, or in the wee hours of New Year's Day, more accurately I had an odd dream.  Odd not just in subject matter, but in that it was recurring.  Most dreams, once you wake, dissolve into the mist never to be seen again,apart from perhaps your ability to recall them.  This one seemed to pick up like a paused movie each time I woke and then returned to sleep.
In the dream I had returned home from this party, and in walking into the house saw my deep freeze standing open, and utterly empty.  I was annoyed and perplexed, but not overly concerned (as one might be to discover several hundred dollars of food vanished.  I woke, briefly, thought the dream odd, and rolled over, back to sleep.
Again I dreamed.  This time the refrigerator was also discovered to be empty.  My reaction was the same.  A third return to dreaming and now the thawing roast on the kitchen counter, a sizable piece of meat, was also missing, as was, I soon noticed, my computer.  This time I was perturbed, but still not upset, and I called the police who asked me for a list & valuation of my absent foodstuffs. (No other material things were absent, just the computer).  As I began to try to figure out the value of all the meat & prepared meals in my deep freeze I finally woke up.
I lay nestled warm in my bed, pondering this dream, since I rarely recall them on waking, unless there is some purpose to the dream.  Nothing came to mind, and I was still not concerned about the lacking foodstuffs, which I briefly considered to be a sign of coming privation.  I have read articles lately warning of increasing grocery prices in the coming year.  But this did not resonate as making sense.
I let it alone and moved forward with my day; largely spent preparing a feast to share with dear friends.
Over dinner I did tell my friends of my dream, sometimes someone else can see an interpretation where I cannot.  We discussed their plans for the coming year, exciting changes I think; and my own hopes and plans, and the sustaining grace that saw me through the past year of unemployment without want or doubt that good things were to come.  God did bring me through, to a job that suits me, uses my gifts & satisfies my needs.  Although it was difficult & at times stressful, there was much grace and never any real want.

At the end of the evening I tucked Emily in & had a short chat with Peter before turning out the lights and seeking my bed again, pleased with a delightful evening with friends, tired and making to-do lists for the following day.  As I lay there mulling over the past few days and the coming ones as well it occurred to me what my dream might mean.  I strongly considered messaging my friend with these thoughts, mostly so I wouldn't lose them, but I couldn't find the energy.  And, if there was merit to them they would remain til morning.
I remembered, belatedly the dream decision to call the authorities, and the subsequent request for an enumeration of the losses.  In that moment I felt strongly that all the losses I have endured over the past several years have indeed been enumerated, and noted, and that those losses will be replaced or restored.  
When I woke up in this morning I knew I had heard the answer most distinctly, but was kicking myself for not writing it down....it had vanished with the sandman.  But very quickly I began to see it again, along with further meaning.  What I became aware of this morning was a very keen sense that the old has been cleared away to make room for new abundance.  As I began to share these thoughts with my friend the knowledge that my losses have been cataloged too returned to me.

2016 will be a year of great abundance, despite the state of the economy (there is more to abundance than mere money, after all), a year of hope and promise.  Happy New Year!

Stones

I've neglected this for a long while now.  I could offer a thousand excuses, but they are just that, excuses.  They would all be true, but excuses nonetheless.  I created a new blog to post Emily's cooking lessons on (http://emilycooks1015.blogspot.ca/) and it seems lately that is about all I have written.  And even those posts have been a struggle.
I confess I battled a lot of fear and doubt, and I was afraid to give them any acknowledgement at all lest even speaking their names would give them power.  At long last though I found employment again (you'd think being unemployed I would have had written all the more with all that free time, but no, not I) I have been so blessed to have good friends to stand by me through the storms life sometimes leads us through, friends who reminded me when I wondered if perhaps I was being an ostrich with my head in the sand, that there was much grace on me and on my situation.  I knew the axe was going to fall, but I knew too there was a better job, better suited to my needs and my gifts.  I had faith God would sustain me through it, and provide abundantly.  And provide he did.
I took a temporary job with Elections Canada in the weeks leading up to the election in October.  I met some lovely people and remembered the rhythm of working.  It provided an opportunity to test Emily on coming home from school to an empty house, a milestone for us both.  And as that job drew to a close I had an interview that led to a job offer I know will be a great fit.  In any case my prayers have been answered.  A good job with variety to the days, hours that will suit Emily and me well.  I am excited and hopeful.
In the midst of these past couple of weeks I have been remembering a pair of small stones I used to keep in my pocket years ago, stones I picked up somewhere on the west coast on a lonely, frustrated walk I took while visiting my ex-husband's parents.  I think I still have them, tucked away in my jewelry box. Of course this remembrance was borne from some other thought in my head....I don't even recall it any more, my thoughts tend to wander and drift and weave themselves together in odd ways.  Thoughts about the journey I have found myself on this past year, and the roads I would like to take, no doubt lines or phrases from sermons or songs.  I've been asked before about my creative process, and it is not something I can answer easily, or concisely.  And all that leads me to offer you, gentle, patient reader, this:

I have walked dusty

rutted

gravel roads

Have strode

ankle deep through

warm, black

sifting

summer-fallow

Have stood upon

windswept, timeworn

mountain peaks

In my pockets

have held

smooth,oddly lovely

riverstones

set fieldstones on fence posts

Under my tongue

one small

smooth

stone

brings water to a parched soul

Like people in glass houses

not sinless

I have learned

to hold those stones

knowing too well

the hurt

But those same stones

have power to heal -

to build monuments

to honour

to defend and secure

And though sand sifts

restless

my feet are fixed

firm

on bedrock

pocketed riverstones

like gems

keep me steady

keep me sure.

Mother

It is almost midnight and I find I cannot sleep.  This is becoming an all to regular occurrence of late.  Usually I toss & turn & listen to the radio, eventually lulled to sleep.  Tonight I thought I'd try a different tack.  I've been trying to write the following poem for a couple of months now, and after many false starts and much stalling I think, maybe, I almost have it. (Are there writers out there who are ever fully satisfied with the work they produce?  Is it ever well and truly finished?  Or do you just have to call it good and move on to the next project?)
In any case, tomorrow we are heading to my home town to celebrate my mother's 70th birthday.  These last few have been difficult years, but we are all still here, still standing, still moving forward.  It is my prayer we will celebrate many more birthdays together.  Happy Birthday, Mom, I love you.
Thank you for everything you are & for everything you have done for me.

There is a picture

tucked away in a dusty album

fading with the years

my mother and me...

There is love implicit in the photograph

Smiling, she leans in toward me

a story book on my knees

a halo of babycurls and footie pajamas

I am on her knee...

she is looking at me, her hand on my shoulder

but my gaze is drawn somewhere else

There is love implicit in the photograph

and though memory had me perched on her knee

as though eager to go

Too soon I think I bounded from her embrace

eager for whatever held my gaze even then.

Life and living; newer more enticing loves

it is not so

Her hands shield me though her arms do not hold me back

And yet

though you cannot see them

then or now

there are cords that bind my heart to hers,

the first love I ever knew,

and for all my pulling away they hold us close

I wish, more often now than ever,

I could take my story book

and, fresh from my bath in pyjamas,

clamber into her lap

Or, as time slowly turns the tables

take her in my embrace and hold her close

There is love implicit in the photograph

and though memory had me perched on her knee

as though eager to go

it is not so

Her hands shield me though her arms do not hold me back

Her lap cradles me

Her eyes watch me

Her love surrounds me

Cooking with Emily: Ginger Beef Sti-Fry

We are slowly moving toward back to school and the steady routine of school days.  I think we are both longing for the return to normalcy, whatever normal looks like, and yet will miss these long lazy days too.  Monday night was girl's night out with one of my circles of girlfriends, so Emily's cooking night was pushed back a couple of days.  I decided to let her stay home alone while I went out, since our evening out was only going to be a few blocks away.  It  was a test of sorts, since she has been asking me for over a year if she could come home alone after school.  She called at the times I requested, had her chores done and had showered & combed her hair.  I was pleased, and needless to say she passed the test.
We decided Wednesday was the only day this week she had to make dinner, and Tuesday afternoon she asked if I had a recipe for Ginger Beef, one of her favourite dishes at the Chinese buffet.  I told her it wouldn't be like the restaurant version and pointed her toward a couple of recipes i had in a folder full of recipes I wanted to try.  She chose one, and a quick scan confirmed it was something she could handle.
Emily spent Wednesday afternoon at the pool, and by quarter to five I was debating starting supper myself.  She did get home shortly after that, and while she changed I sliced a couple of small sirloin tip steaks into strips and sliced a couple of carrots for her.  She insisted I leave the kitchen then, and so I retreated.
She coated the strips of steak in a batter of cornstarch and water before placing them in hot oil.  Before long I was called to the rescue, the spattering oil had her hesitating.  I can't blame her, cooking with oil that spits and spatters isn't much fun.  I helped her brown the meat and set it aside while she sauteed the carrots, made her sauce and started a pot of rice.  Once the sauce of broth, soy sauce, ginger and orange peel was poured over the carrots she returned the steak to the pan.  The sauce thickened quickly so I advised her to shut it off while the rice finished cooking.  Emily had tasted a piece of meat while the carrots were cooking and was not impressed with the flavour, although there were no seasonings on it apart from a little salt in the batter.  As a whole though dinner was very tasty, although I suspect she mismeasured the water for the rice as it was slightly under cooked.  The sauce could have used a touch more ginger as it lacked a certain kick as well.  Then again we used chicken stock instead of beef, as there was a carton open in the refrigerator.  Beef broth may have had more body.  A pinch of red pepper flakes may have helped a little too.

Ginger Beef Stir-Fry

3 Tablespoons corn starch, divided               3/4 cup thinly sliced carrots

2 tablespoons water                                       3/4 cup beef broth

1/4 teaspoon salt                                            2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 1/2 lbs top sirloin steak, thinly sliced in 3' strips

2 teaspoons orange peel                                 1 teaspoon ground ginger

In a large bowl combine 2 tablespoons cornstarch with water & salt until smooth.  Add beef, toss to coat.

In a large skillet stir fry beef in small batches in 1 tablespoon vegetable oil until meat reaches desired doneness; remove and keep warm.

Stir fry carrots in another tablespoon of oil for 5-6 minutes.  Place remaining cornstarch in a bowl, stir in broth until smooth.  Add ginger, soy sauce and orange peel.  Return beef to skillet, stir in broth mixture.  Bring to a boil.  Cook and stir 2 minutes, until thickened.  Serve over rice, egg noodles or mashed potatoes.