The Tracks of My Life

    A long time ago, I heard an illustration about this journey through life that has stuck with me. I think I remember it first from Larry Crabb and to this day, my friend and I still use it to help us think together. Life is a journey of both joy and sorrow/good and bad and the word picture is this:
    We are like a train car that is travelling along a track and sitting upon two rails - joy and sorrow or good and bad. We have a wheel on each rail and depending on what is going on in our lives, we travel smoothly along experiencing both in a day or, if it is windy or bumpy, we lean on one rail more
than the other. Some days there is more joy/good than sorrow/bad and some days it's just the other way around. Some seasons have more leaning on one rail than the other and we wonder if we will ever balance out again. God uses these two rails in my life to keep me moving ahead and to keep me focused on Him and the fact that I am not home yet. As a little girl, I remember the pain that was present in my heart, even when I was having the most wonderful time, because I had already learned that it could not last or there was always something not totally perfect. In even my darkest days, I have had moments of joy or humor that helped me take the next breath and move to the next moment. The two rails in my life.
    Between the two rails are mercy and grace, helping to keep the track balanced and the rails secure. Oh how I need mercy and grace! Even as I write, my chest is hurting with suppressed tears and a feeling of overwhelming pain. One of my kids has chosen to reject our family and go his own way and while we tried to send him off with blessing, he is telling another story to the world around him. It hurts so much to know what a special, gifted person he is and to see a raft of consequences yet to come based on the choices he is making. Another child is hurting deeply, after a cancer she never asked for has come in and torn apart her world. She is wondering why she had to make it through when she  didn't want to and others, who wanted to live, didn't. I have no answers for either, nor for the others in my life who are experiencing suffering, tough times and despair, except to pray to the One who holds them in His Hands and trust that He knows where these tracks are going and that the destination will be worth it all.
I look ahead and see only the sorrow/bad rail running ahead of me through my tears. But when I look behind me, that's when the miracle happens. For running behind far in the distance I see only the good rail, shining with joy and somehow the memories are good. When I glance over my shoulder, I see loving parents, a wedding, the births of precious babies, the common days of chubby little hands and sticky hugs, singing Veggie Tales songs, making suppers, colouring at the kitchen table, morning  Bible study with other young moms, the gift of all the books that have helped to shape me, answered prayers, laughter and birthday cakes and Christmas mornings and on and on. So much joy that I could burst with tears and laughter and the deepest kind of joy in my heart.
    Of course, during those years were incredible dark times too. Depression and abuse, control and anger, finances failing, the cancer and death of my father, separation and despair that our marriage could ever be good in any way, children ill or hurting, betrayals and my own horrible failures. I know that they are all there too, both rails run back behind me, but somehow the joy/ good rail outshines all the dark and it seems that I gained more strength and spent more time leaning on the joy rail of my track. It actually shines behind me, looking like a single rail as far as my eye can see, and it brings hope. Hope that as I move ahead, it will be more of the same as I look back this time next year, or 5 years or 10 years. I find that I can truly agree with the Apostle Paul, that God makes all things work together for good for those that love Him and are called according to His purpose. When the track veers suddenly and I'm leaning hard on the bad rail, He is still in full control and I am not going to tip right off, grace and mercy are still beneath, holding me up and I still have one wheel on the good rail, I just can't feel it as strongly. When I look behind me, I call my mind to remember and I see so much good that it overwhelms me with gratitude and renewed hope that this is not all there is. Often, when people ask me how I am doing, I answer "Chugging along". Funny, I never thought about it, but I really am chugging along and knowing that the Engineer running the engine  has it all under control and I am safe as a little car, being pulled toward Home.
Just thinking.

Frenzy and Famous

    I attended the Global Leadership Summit this summer for the first time in a number of years.
I really debated going because I am no longer in any formal leadership roles, but to be honest, my
heart gets going faster when it comes to this topic and so, my husband and I went together. As per
usual, there was a truckload of information in just 2 days. It's always like drinking from a fire hose,
but this time I was able to take a step back and look for the 2 big ideas that stood out to me.
    They were very easy to find and even now to remember. Funny how much I have needed these 2 ideas this September.  The first was a session I truly enjoyed about the power of introverts and the
fact that it is not a shameful thing to be introverted, just a challenge. The word that stood out was
Frenzy and how that is not what I want in my life or particularly in my writing world. I do not want this quiet gift in my life to get cluttered, loud or lost. I enjoy this place in my heart and I am learning to embrace it and have to continually set aside fear while I am here. Fear that I will lose the joy, fear that someone else will take over and fear that a demand for perfection or performance will creep in. These are the same fears that often kept me from writing at all, while my fingers itched to hold a pen and I was distracted often, because I was writing in my head, yet afraid to let it out. I am realizing that Frenzy is a choice and not a consequence of allowing myself to write. I am grateful to be able to embrace introversion and push away fear. I will journey on and be quiet about it!!!
    The other most important idea that is resonating in my heart and mind is the word Famous. Louie Giglio was the closing speaker at the Summit and he put into words for me, something that I have struggled to name and walk with in my life. Often, in the Bible or in writings I read, the authors talk about living to glorify God and I want that in my life. It's a word that we either overuse or misuse and it has lost its saltiness in my thinking. Giglio began to talk about his life's passion and that was to make Jesus the most famous one in his own life. To think about making Him known for His awesomeness and living like that. That hit a target in me. That's the "today" version of glorifying God and living with that in mind. Famous! How much do I read about celebrities, or dream about my kids being known for their giftedness and wanting to express to the world how great they are? The idea that makes my heart sing the most, is making God famous in my life, so that people know that He is the center of my world and all good things in my life are simply gifts from One who loves me well and is worthy of all my admiration and devotion. Famous! What a great word!
    Even as I write, I am laughing because Frenzy describes my outside life and Famous is what I am most definitely not! The speed of life this September has been nothing short of astonishing. We have had major car troubles, kids' stuff, engagements, illness and noise all month. I am finding that I have no answers for anything, other than to pray for strength and wisdom and step into the day. When I fall into my bed at night, I am grateful for the grace given to get through the day and exhausted by the sheer magnitude of all the lives swirling around me and the hurts and cares that each one is facing. Mean girls, prolonged illness, consequences of bad choices, rejection, pressures to perform well, money shortages and weariness of heart. I want our home to be a place of peace and protection before they head back out there, but to do that, I need some extra gifts of grace, wisdom, humour, and strength to face all the cooking and laundry that is required! God is so good and when I am in bed at night, I can see His hand on so many situations that I was merely surviving and yet He gave words and eyes to see what was needed in that moment. Those gifts are His peace in the midst of the frenzy going on all around me. He has a method in all this madness!
    I will carry on. There is no other options. Not when I know the Famous One, who conquers Frenzy and is above all else, worthy of the Fame that only He can handle and most definitely deserves.
Just thinking.

Hurtful Hearing and Hiding from Hope

    It's funny how journeying with your children points out glaring touch points in your own life. My son and I are having a tough time communicating. I am thinking about carrying a handheld recorder at all times, to record what I have actually said and not whatever twisted words my son claims that I have said. For instance, "have you done any math?" becomes "you have to do math for at least an hour and you can't go out at all." Of course there is a history in our relationship and as I have repented of old patterns and changed the dance with my son, he is struggling to trust me and to learn a new way of dancing with me in our relationship. He truly does not believe that I am for him and love him unconditionally. He hears what I say through a filter in his mind that is distorting my words and my love for him. It really helps to have others around to hear our conversations so that they can affirm both what I have said and not said. He can't hear the real me right now.
    As I have been praying for my son and his hearing, I hear God asking me some tough questions. Questions about my own hearing, both of the people in my life and of God Himself. My filters are just as wonky and dangerous as my son's. I don't hear God say "I love you and I chose you to be mine." I hear "I will love you when you do such and such and you better hope I keep you around." My hearing is keeping me away from Jesus and His truthful words that bring life and not despair. He has said He will never leave or forsake me. I read my Bible with that same wrong filter and what I am reading is not sinking into my heart because there are all kinds of conditions I put on those words. It is wrong and I need a hearing aid. I need to slow down and run what I think I am hearing through the hearing aid of truth.
    It is coming home to me too, that I am not truly hearing the people in my life clearly. I have a certain way of listening to my husband that assumes he has an agenda for me to adhere to. I hear friends' encouragement and kindness through a filter of dismissiveness because they don't really know how awful I am and so they must be taken with not just a grain, but a teaspoon of salt. How silly to be so hearing impaired and it be so absolutely unnecessary! I need help! Part of it is choosing truth and part of it is choosing hope. The hope that is true, that God is for me and not against me and neither are those I love. I certainly don't want them to hear my words of love and encouragement through such a negative filter. I don't have an agenda for them or expect performances and neither do they. It's the old argument that it's okay for them but not for me. What a lie. Satan loves this lie and it keeps me from my Father's loving heart.
    I was also thinking that this distorted hearing helps to keep me from really connecting with my hopes and dreams. The other night, I was talking with my daughter about changing her inner dialogue about not wanting to be well and live to actually expressing her hopes and dreams and the things she really wants to do. She told me, with tears in her eyes, that she has been so shattered and so many dreams have died, that she is scared to say things out loud because it hurts so much when they don't happen and it is safer to keep hopelessness close by. My heart broke when I heard her because I know how much her life has changed and how she has suffered. But. But she has never been out of God's hands nor His love. His plans are for good and not for ill, He does have a hope and a future for her that is good. She needs to hope, to express her dreams and live with an open heart. I am certain that if one dream doesn't take place, it's because God has something better in mind. I know this for sure. For her. Why not for myself?
    I have to face it. I am deeply afraid to be positive right now because I am fearful. I am aware that I can't be super positive about my daughter because I am afraid that if I get too used to the idea of her living and being healed or embrace it joyfully, that I will be crushed and destroyed if she dies. I am keeping to myself within my marriage because I am afraid that if I grow to depend on and really need my husband, that he will die and I will be destroyed. All my life, in certain ways, I have had to rely on myself and carry on alone because the ones who were to be there, weren't. There is always a dialogue in the back of my head that is reminding me not to get too attached and that the next axe is about to fall. That I shouldn't really believe my friends when they say they care for me, because though I know how special and precious they are, the same can't be said about me and they could happily do without me.
    In a way, there is truth to the fact that we will always be alone in some senses. No one can live in your head with you. No one except God. He knows, He hears and He loves. Oh, how He loves. I feel like a little girl who is having her fingers pried off her ears, not to be yelled at or rebuked, but so that I can hear some beautiful, fear shattering music. The music of my loved ones singing in my life. The music of dreams and hopes and good things yet to come. The invitation to dance in joy and put away fear of tomorrow. To believe in goodness, in colour, in joy and love and to hope. I choose truth. I choose joy and I will never stop being grateful for all the amazing people God has placed in my life. I am so loved and so honoured. No fear! Clean ears!
Just thinking.

Being Churlish and Ungrateful

    I love Rosamunde Pilcher. She is one of my favourite authors and her books are stories that I read when I need to read something familiar and enjoyable. She is a Scottish author who has a gift for creating characters that you would like to meet and have a coffee with. She has offered some insights for living that come to mind every now and again. Things like the fact that even when you have much turmoil and heartache going on, getting busy and doing chores can really help to fill the time and when you are done, you have a clean house or a tidy garden in spite of your pain. (This is also good advice when you are angry!). So, for the past 2 days, I have been working on menial chores and asking God for help to keep on keeping on. I'm not sure I'm any further ahead emotionally, but I have trimmed and chopped a huge clematis in my garden, swept up and tidied my backyard and it looks much better. There is much to be said for work. It is a gift sometimes.
   I am very unhappy with myself. I am feeling so discouraged about just not knowing what I should be doing, feeling or thinking. The past few months have been full of unexpected twists and turns and I feel unsure of myself. I was describing my daughter's cancer as an atomic bomb that was thrown into her life and the rest of us have been hit with the shrapnel and our lives will never be the same. I have no desire to claim that her pain is my pain. Her pain has been of a magnitude that I have not experienced, but because she is my daughter, I have felt much pain to a lesser degree. I am trying to find a balance in our relationship and life back at home and it has been a struggle. I want to encourage her, but not enable her. I want to love her and not smother her. I want to be empathetic, but not be a drama queen. I want to love her well, love her like Jesus loves her. That is hard, takes the wisdom of Solomon and I am clearly, not Solomon!!! I am struggling to find my calling, to find my place again. I am Mom, I am a wife and I am still me. What does that look like? Working outside the home to help our finances, but doing what? Or continuing to be quiet and wait for some direction? If I follow my heart, I deeply desire to read, write and listen to those hearts that I am privileged to care about. Where is God in this? Does boredom mean activity? Or does it mean, be quiet, be still? Wait? For what?
    I said that I am ashamed, and I am. In the midst of all of this everyday life, I have been given gifts that are beyond priceless. The gifts of friends who love, who call, who pray and who give in so many ways. I am loved by my husband and we have the treasure of a marriage that has been through a raging inferno and we made it and we are best friends. I still get to be "Mom" and each of my kids are such an amazing blessing in my life. I get to have heart to hearts, pray for them, laugh with them and make memories with them. I have my own health to thank God for. The ability to read, to write, to clean and cook and walk and listen to music and talk and laugh and even to think! Yesterday, I was in church with my family and had several very special encounters to remind me that I am not alone and I am loved. Yes, Lord I am grateful. You and You alone have given me this life, this life that is mine and unique and I thank You. You have put special people in my life and deep hope and joy in my heart. I think of my husband, the mechanic who would say I was recallibrated!
    I have wept that I am tired. Tired of swimming upstream against the currents of what I "should" think, feel or do and the currents of others' expectations. Expectations for myself and for those I love. Now, though I still swim upstream, I am grateful. I am grateful for being called to swim, struggle and see all those who are with me. For my God who has not ever let me out of His sight.
"Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
 Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.
 They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.
 I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him." "  Lam. 3:21-24
The rest of the chapter in Lamentations goes on to say that the Lord is good and that it is good to wait.
    I have been churlish and ungrateful. I am forgiven and loved. I have some thank you cards to write and some people to love on. Thank you Lord that you forgive and that you are sovereign.
Just thinking.

Enduring Agonies and a Shriek for Relief

    "Wow. I thought I was handling all this." Ha! How arrogant I am and how small minded. How forgetful of God's grace to help me face each moment. My poor husband has been kind and tried to
help me - me, who doesn't want to keep going anymore. It feels like one sucker punch after another
these days, and I think I am done. How very small of me! The punches I feel are only side swipes - I
am not actually being punched. I ashamed of how I am punching those around me in retaliation for my own desire for relief. I want to run, or hide, or die or all of the above.
    My daughter is being smacked down again and again. Biopsies, stem cell rejections, fatigue, not fitting in w her peers, wondering how to carry on. Angry that she hasn't died yet. And, angry that our dear family friend did. A 39 year old husband and father passed away from cancer one week ago today. I was privileged to be the funeral coordinator for his service. It was one of the hardest funerals I have ever had to do. Our families have been crossing links for 20 years. His parents were leading the first small group we joined when we moved here. His sister is a dear friend who was my girls' most favourite babysitter when they were little. We attended his wedding with our now strapping teen son in a baby seat. His daughter is very good friends with our daughter and on it goes.
    Our society is so full of pretense where death is concerned. When I work a funeral, it's real. Carrying the urn (which is shockingly heavy), setting up flowers, leading the grieving family. The best gift my father's death, almost 10 years ago, gave me was the knowledge that there is nothing to say and you can only be there. So, I was there. I actually spoke very little, but my heart was shrieking inside as I walked with his mom, our arms around each other. I am aware that she was about to say goodbye to her baby and selfishly, I know that my baby is still perilously close to danger, so I was aware of the agony. I hugged his sister and told her she didn't need words for me, that it was her time and to just be. I wanted so much to take away their pain, not intrude on them and yet, to let them know how much I love them. I think that's when the armour that I have had carefully built around me really started falling off.
    I have been filled with despair, feeling no hope all week. More than that, I have been really angry. Angry that God seems to have lost His way in my life and is not at all concerned about how my world is failing and those I love are crumbling without any help forthcoming. I feel so much pressure to help my daughter and yet, I am so aware that she is an adult and must face her life and make her choices. Yet, there is a struggle in that because she is still so ill and I am still her caregiver. I have to count out the pills, help her get to appointments and we talk about the expectations of others around her to just get better now, be happy now, go to work, go to school and just GET BETTER! This is the point where climbing a mountain and becoming a hermit has a very strong appeal.
    I am angry. Bitter. Tired. Unfair. My poor husband is hurting and I feel so selfishly self centered that I am not reaching out to care for him. I love him. He is so special and I am afraid I am going to lose him, so I am determined not to need him or let him in. How awful. I am ashamed and still can't find the courage to be vulnerable. Or even to let myself cry very much.
    And then...  And then I went to church last night and one of my favourite psalms was read. Psalm 73. I love that psalm because it is so real and because I am so aware that I have been behaving like a dumb beast. I know better. I know that when I worship God for who He IS and for loving Him because He IS, then my heart is truly helped. I, literally, cannot go on this way. I must not go on this way. Thank you God for your mercy.
    Psalm 73   (verses 1,2 and 22 to 26)
Surely God is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost slipped: I had nearly lost my foothold.
For I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
...
When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant;
I was a brute beast before You.
Yet I am always with You; You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward You will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth
has nothing I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my my portion forever.
    Truth matters. It matters deeply because there is no where else to stand. The young man who passed away knew this and he was worshipping even as he died. He knew his wife and kids will be okay. They will suffer and mourn but God will carry them. Not only that, but they will be together again one day when time will cease to matter and every hurt and harm will be forever banished. Forever. That is why we sang "Bless the Lord oh my soul" and the tears were deep and healing and precious.
  I can go on. I can go on today because my Heavenly Father cares and is carrying me and everyone I love so much. I have nothing, He has it all and that is okay. Actually, it is more than okay, it is right and good. Forgive me Lord, for my arrogance and my despair. You never lost your way in my life - I did.
Thank you that today is new. Thank you that the relief  I need is not from my circumstances, but from my blindness to see You. You are good, You are sovereign, You can be trusted.
    Just thinking.

My Bootstraps are Broken

    I think I have mentioned before that I am tired. This year's journey seems never ending and with no levelling off  anytime soon.  We are in a season of illness, stillness and pressure.  I also laugh as I write this, because I know that God is fully with me and that He is still sovereign and that I am a  two year old writhing around in His lap, fussing and fuming. Having had many a two year old in my own lap, this makes me smile because there is always a humorous side to it. Two year olds can be very funny and super dramatic.  They also have no idea of what is best for them.
    My bootstraps really are broken. I have nothing left with which to pull myself up and get going again on my own power.  I was raised by a man who demanded that I be strong and self sufficient from the time I was very young. As a young teen I was given book after book about being in control, making life work and being number one (actually, I read a book called Looking Out for #1). Instead of putting me in control and confident, I struggled with depression and an overwhelming sense of failure and hopelessness. Part of the push - pull in my home was that I should be strong and dominant and also that I was bad and would never amount to anything. Plus, I am a perfectionist and I felt very deeply in my soul, that nothing was ever truly perfect, not in performances or even in nature. It was always somehow damaged. Even a longed for party or holiday was marred by imperfection and the weight of this, coupled with the expectation to make a strong life for myself, actually wound up paralyzing me and I spent much time longing for death or an escape from the hopelessness.
    Enter Jesus Christ, the only perfect man the world has ever known.  It was the end of my grade 12 year and I was invited to hang out with some young people I was beginning to get to know better after a high school choir bus trip to Vancouver and back. I don't remember much of the evening, or even who was speaking, but I remember vividly the description of the perfect man who never made mistakes, never got tired, knew the future and loved me unconditionally and would lead the way for me. Oh, thank you God! Even as I write this, I remember the profound relief and the gift of hope. John 14:6 "Jesus said, I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except thru me". Granite. Solid, strong and rational. I had been searching all my teen years and was found by my loving God.
    My father grew up in a very poor, very rigid home and as soon as he could, he left his family, their teachings and even the province to get away and make his own life. My mom was raised in a small town and going to church was a way of life, but not actual relationship with God. She was happy to go with Dad but very sympathetic to me when I began searching. She took me to a church that was full of happy people who really were all about making life work and the sermons were a shot in the arm to keep you going and try harder. Depressing and so we stopped going. Dead end.
   Fast forward to the end of Grade 12 and the hope I found in Jesus. Rock solid. Real hope. I went home and my father expressed his disappointment in my weakness. My inability to use my bootstraps properly and get going. Normally, this would be world ending and yet, the hope I had found was real and unrelenting. I was safe. There's a reason I couldn't find perfection and that it is good to need Someone to make a way for me. The Fall. Until the Father sets everything right again, life here on planet earth will be hard, dirty and imperfect. Phew!!!
    My father gave me some good gifts. A desire to read and know what I thought and felt and be able to back up my  thinking. I began to read and learn about Christianity and the truth that was unshakable. A solid granite path beneath my feet both academically and experientially in my life. I began to grow and read and enjoy. I met an amazing man, we married and had a beautiful family. We moved away from out city of origin and found our place in a new home and a new church. Awesome. We struggled and were messy and weak and God rescued us and we knew peace amidst the struggles.
    Until fairly recently. When again, I realized that there was an expectation even within my own community that the time had come for me to pull myself up by the bootstraps and fix things. Get over your daughter's cancer, she's recovering. (Not really, but it sounds good.) Get back in control of your body and lose the weight you gained, get your house in order, get back into life, GET IT TOGETHER!! In all fairness, this could be old voices in my head to add to just a few, not the majority of people in my life. It really wouldn't be surprising would it? :)
    My bootstraps are broken. I have no energy, no desire and not even an idea of how to fix anything. One of my very dear friends has been sidelined to her couch for a long while, as her broken body tries to get rid of garbage it has carried for many years. We are in agreement that we are both in a counter cultural - both world and church - stream right now. Hidden, quiet and broken. I have a deep sense that God is doing good things, completely unaided by my help or her help. Life is not just lived for here on planet earth, we are getting ready for the life to come. Nothing here will ever be wasted. God is sovereign. How come I know this and it hurts so much? How come I know how weak I am but I still hate to admit it?
    On my calendar right now is a quotation that I have been reading over and over. It's a gooder.
"Do not look forward to what may happen tomorrow. The same loving Heavenly Father who took care of you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day; either He will heal you from pain, or He will give you unfailing strength to bear it. So be at peace then. Put aside anxious fears and imaginings and say continually, "The Lord is my strength and my shield. In Him do I place my trust and I am helped"". (St. Francis de Sales in the 1500's)
    I have been evaluating my life here since coming home in June. My husband and I are struggling to make some decisions for our family and our future. I have been tugging on my broken bootstraps to get myself up and ready to fix it all, and failing miserably. Thank you God for that gift of weakness. When I think about hearing from Jesus, what do I want? Do I want mere relief from my pain and demand blessings? NO! I want to hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant. You loved me above all and I am pleased". I will wait and be quiet and leave those darn bootstraps alone.
Just thinking.

Summer Melancholy

    I heard country singer Paul Brandt talking about a song he wrote about how summer feels in Alberta. It really resonated with me and funnily enough, has taken away the pressure I feel to enjoy summer. I always have a vague, nagging feeling that I am not enjoying the sunshine enough or being summery enough because the season is so short. I agreed with what he said about "the pressures of summer because it's so short and winter is coming", or something close to that.
    I didn't realize how debilitating that little voice in the back of my head can be. Especially this summer, I don't really want to be forced to get outside and soak up the sun. I will enjoy some pool time with my youngest when she is home from camp and that will be enough. I still have so much to do at home here, and in truth, I hate being hot. My garden needs attention and that will come eventually, but not today. Today I give myself permission to do some inside stuff and be at peace. Yes, summer is short, but fall is actually my most favourite season and that is coming up. I am reminded that my heart tugs about the passing of seasons is a reminder that I was made for eternity and timelessness and that this is not home. What a relief! The pressure is reduced, knowing that I can use this melancholy to remind me of my longing for heaven and that passing seasons are good measuring sticks as my life is passing by.
    The Bible talks about our life as a breath and today, I am grateful for that. I will take each day as it comes. I will be grateful for my blessings and I will do what I can. People are most precious and I want space in my heart for them, not for a clean house and a perfect looking life! (And the ever present pressure to have a great summer tan!)  I can look out my window at the sunshine and rejoice and then, get on with whatever I need to do here inside. No guilt, no shame. I have had some wonderful summers with  lots of lake time and summer fun, but life seasons change and I can embrace all of them. Memories can bless us and bind us too and today, I choose to remember and release and keep moving ahead. I am not the same hopeless mess I was last summer, I am a new mess in a new place! Summer melancholy is a good phrase. It gives me a release from the pressure and a joy in today.
Just thinking.

Swimming Upstream

    My family loves the movie, "Finding Neemo", mostly because we love Dorie. Lately, I have heard her little song about just keep swimming playing in my head. It makes me smile and then it makes me cry.  I hate pity parties and I also hate phoniness and fake positive attitudes. I would like to do life perfectly and not make mistakes, but I am well aware it is not possible. However, there must be some sort of happy medium somewhere, instead of this gasping feeling that I am swimming upstream and against the currents of people around me.
    Yesterday I went to see some friends of ours who have kids a little younger than our youngest. He is dying of cancer and she is his caregiver. I was so struck by what she said when we were talking about how hard this is (no, I didn't go and tell her to just have faith and God is in control!) and it has stuck in my thoughts. She said, "He has something to look forward to". Meaning he will be in Heaven soon and not suffering anymore and oh, how I want that for him, but I understand what she was saying too. She has to stay here, say goodbye, raise their kids alone and keep living. It makes me cry and it makes me remember some hard core truth. That she will not be alone, Jesus will be holding her every step of the way. That our time here on earth with all the pain and struggle will be "light and momentary" in eternity and that Jesus will wipe every tear from her eyes. I know this, like a solid granite platform beneath us. I am aware of all the coming miracles that God will provide her and her precious kids. I am grateful AND I am sad. Jesus wept at the pain that death causes us (He wept for Mary and Martha) and I am so glad He did. It shows that we were never meant to be separated from each other and how awful the Fall truly was. Thank you, God, that one day soon, You will fix it all. Until then, we weep and cry and we trust and hurt.
    The part I find hardest sometimes is those who are quick to deny hurt or skip to the end of the story too quickly. I am glad to be home and I am glad my daughter is cancer free. I also feel like I am just coming to the surface again, after being underwater for 7 months and feeling the pain I couldn't feel back then. It is overwhelming sometimes. She is still suffering and right now is deep in the midst of grief. Grief at her lost dreams, her permanently scarred body, her fear to live, her guilt that she is alive and our friend is dying and leaving his family. We are swimming upstream and I am out of breath. I want to hide from all those that are quick to remind me of positives, and yet I am fearful of being negative, drama seeking and morbid. I don't want to deny or downplay the amazing journey we are on thru my daughter's cancer, but for today, right now I am tired and full of unshed tears. And disgusted with myself  that I feel like I can't pull up the bootstraps and carry on.
    There are moments of joy and laughter. I am getting ready to paint a bedroom a really horrible bright green that my daughter thinks is fabulous. She is away at camp and I want the fun of surprising her. I love painting my house, partly because it stays finished! I am glad to see friends and tell them I love them and yet, my soul feels raw and bleeding and it hurts when they push me to rejoice in the way they think it should be. I am so aware of my weakness and my inability to help my daughter choose life and my inability to help our friends thru the deep waters they are suffering under. I actually feel angry when I am called incredible or strong. No, no I'm not. I am carried by my loving Father and I am so screwed up and weak. Here I am, healthy and feeling like I can't go on. I am ashamed. I can't fix this. But...
"I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed to Him against that day". (1 Tim.1:12).
    I am reminded of all that God has done to get me here in spite of myself and I know it is true when I say, "Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work in me, to Him be all the glory". (Eph 3:20)  That allows me to be sad, to make mistakes and most of all, to place all those that I love so deeply and passionately in His arms and know that upstream, downstream or sidestream, all will be well and all will be well.
Finally, a deep breath.
Just thinking.

Moving On?

    I am so very grateful this morning. My kitty is here beside me, in our "spot" as I type. There is some restored order to my home again and we are coming to the end of the school year. No more schedules for a while and time to catch up.  The sun is shining, the house is still cool and I have a great cup of coffee beside me! I am so grateful. I am forgiven for my failures, carried forward to the future and given just enough courage to face the next moment.
    This is all so true and yet...there is so much more swirling along underneath. My daughter is home, yes, and cancer free, yes, but she is so fragile and still so ill. It seems that one step is forward and 3 steps are back. Having to go to the cancer centre is so hard. She has a cancer card. She is so very young. I am young, compared to the majority of people who are there and most of them are accompanying their elderly parent or their spouse. Yesterday, we were told that she had a virus that only time will get rid of and that she must have a liver biopsy as her numbers are funny. They think it's medication that is the culprit, but need to be sure. Sure? More pain, more invasive procedures? I know, trust the Dr. I do. She's a great doctor, but it is so discouraging to be here and to be aware that more pain is coming for my girl.
    She is discouraged too. We are both talking much about "transplant recovery" and giving herself the time and grace to get better but it seems that she is constantly needing to recover from something else first. I am so proud of her. She is able to voice her discouragement and yet, keeps putting one foot in front of the other. She is fighting her eating disorder. She is beautiful and gifted and I thank God for such a blessing as to get to be her mom. And...she is suffering. It hurts. It seems endless and we are called to keep moving on.
    People are precious to me and I love them so much and I want to hide for a while. I haven't got any more words to give, more explaining to do, no more space in my head. I am so selfish! These loving, kind souls have been amazing and giving and such faithful friends. I want to move on with them but I feel stuck and hollow. I am deeply ashamed when I read the morning news and see all the suffering around the world as I sit in my comfortable home. I know better. I want to give and be content with my lot and to want to walk with God more than I want my pain to be taken away. I want to move on and I'm tired. Ever get tired of living in your own head?
    This too shall pass!  One of the best things about getting older is the calm knowledge that moments do pass, life goes on and there will be a tomorrow. I remember feeling so trapped and the panic of feeling like this particular moment will last forever! So I know that I am moving on and I guess I am wondering what life is to look like now? I think the dilemma in my soul is that I feel an unspoken expectation (from others, from myself?) to get back to normal and  I also feel that the whole world has moved on in one direction while I am moving away in the other direction. I feel lost, that's what it is. I guess my question is, moving on to what? To where? And how do you do that with so many other relationships seemingly anchoring you to move with them in the other direction? Oh, boy.
Just thinking.

Beginning, Middle and Ending

It’s funny how life is a constant series of stories and all are at different spots and all are happening simultaneously in life. I have been thinking about this because I feel like I can’t keep up! Not only that, but yesterday was my first day back at our home church and although it was a “coming home”, in every sense of the words, it was tough too because many that I met assumed we are at the end of the battle for my daughter’s life and in reality, we are smack in the middle. Coming home has been a great beginning and yet, my oldest daughter moved out yesterday with her husband to their new home and it was a tough ending.

    Made a little tougher by my teenage son, telling me it was no big deal that she was leaving, as she has been married for  awhile and left before. So, we had to have a chat about respecting Mom’s feelings and perspective and not trying to argue when something that is important to me is going on. The truth is, she was leaving home for good. The wedding is over, her sister and I are home and it is time for her to begin her new life with her husband. Yesterday was an ending I was not prepared for in some ways, but can you ever be? I feel shattered that the baby I was so thrilled to have placed in my arms, is all grown up and on her way. I am so, so proud of her and rejoicing that she has left home with our blessing and has a good man to build a life with. I think I need a good cry.

    Smack in the middle of that ending, was a middle – a continuation of life with my son. Discussing the importance of respect and re-establishing the role that I as Mom, have in this home after being away for 3 months. I think that although my family is glad to have me home, they are remembering that a 2 parent family feels different and that Mom has a “thing” about a clean house and order in the home. Along with that is my daughter’s pain. Oh, how I wish I could snap my fingers and take it away. We head back to the cancer clinic to ask for help with some more issues she is having. We are totally in the middle of transplant recovery, not near the end yet. As always, too, I am in the middle of living in my head, processing and asking God for mercy and help. Sometimes I feel like I have been talking for hours, only to hear my voice come out croaky because I have been thinking and not actually speaking.

    I am only on Day 5 of being at home. This has been a very tough beginning and I seriously hope it gets better. My daughter and I have talked about a new start in our own relationship. Needless to say, I have screwed up already, but it doesn’t negate the newness of being at home again. My husband and I are aiming for a new beginning, but in reality we are stuck somewhere in the middle of learning to love each other well and stick together through the “stuff” being thrown at us. God has been so faithful to help my husband forgive me, love me and sometimes even enjoy me!!

    As a dear friend said to me, my house is exactly like someone picked it up, gave it a good shake and put it down. So true! My family did so well to keep going while I was away, but oh boy, my house is not in order. I am repeating to myself, over and over, that it can be sorted, it’s okay,  it’s not the end of the world, but every time I have opened a drawer, a cupboard or a closet, I get a shock. So far, I have managed to stay only on the main floor but tomorrow I must brace for the basement and the chaotic laundry room. They sure did their best and wow, is it in need of a little declutter!  One step at a time. The night we got home, my daughter was in distress because she needed a new beginning in her room after coming home again. We moved all her furniture and prayed over her room. Far from being a safe place for her, it was full of memories of pain and depression and suffering. I think it has helped her and it helped me to slow down and be able to reorganize one small area at a time, a few cupboards here and there and stop to breathe.

    I am realizing that living in trauma for the last 7 months, has been a lot harder than I thought.  Being at home, has been a constant reminder of where I have been and that the journey has been harder than I imagined.  I am having trouble sleeping again and for me, that is a sure sign that the deeps are being stirred. I am aware of pain in my soul that I had to put away for the time that my daughter was so critical, and is now making itself known again. I need my friends, I need my husband and most of all, I need to sit with Jesus and let Him heal me. Little by little, some order is being restored, both in my home and in my heart. I am living by these words that I have had on my fridge door for awhile, but forgot about.

“You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast BECAUSE he trusts in You”.  Isaiah 26:3

Thank goodness that though all these beginnings, middle and endings are going on in all our lives, we are not the Author of our stories and He knows exactly where we are, and where we are going. Phew!

Just thinking

Useless Shame

    Over the last few days I have been reevaluating my life and what it might look like when I go home, after being away for 3 months.  I have been looking after my sweet daughter as she has battled leukemia and worked her way through a bone marrow transplant. (Today we got the incredible news that her latest biopsy shows no signs of leukemia - it is gone! Thank you, Lord!)  Going home is yet another change for all of us, and we are feeling some anxiety and trying to make some plans.
    As I have been considering this, I am aware of a deep disquiet in my soul. A mocking voice that is reminding me of what a failure my life is. A deep rooted belief that by not following my father's plans for me to "be something", that my life is useless and wasted and above all, something to be ashamed of.  As I write this, I need to be clear. My children are the most extravagant blessings I have ever been blessed with. All of my life, I wanted to be a wife and a mommy. What I am referring to, is the shame that was heaped on me for having that desire and expressing it in the home I grew up in. Later on, when I followed my heart's longings and began our family, there was deep disgust and disappointment from my parents. Never towards the kids, whom they loved from the moment they were born, but for me - from the moment I was pregnant. I look at pregnant women who enjoy the journey with envy because for me, it was a mix of joy overlaid with a thick layer of shame. Isn't it so often the way? You and the new life you build is full of joy, but your past and home of origin bring a divided heart and turmoil.
    No more! I have loved being "mommy" to my precious kids. I will always be grateful to my Heavenly Father for giving me an incredible husband who loves me and wanted to have a family with me. He has worked so hard to let me be able to stay home and raise our kids and do what I feel I was most gifted to do - be a mom.  With some adult children and some on the cusp of adulthood, I can look back and smile in great joy and gratefulness for the years I have had at home with my kids. Even as I look and smile, I am aware of a grey thread of false shame at my wasted life. What a stupid lie! My life has not been wasted, nor will I allow that regret to hang over my head any longer. Baloney! I didn't do what my father demanded and I thank God for that! It would have destroyed me, but for a loving God who reached into my life and gave me what my heart longed for most. I am so, so blessed.
    I was thinking about the few months before this journey through leukemia began and I can see how that belief was rising to the surface and poisoning my daily life. I lost interest in cooking for my family - it seemed useless and I was such a loser. Lies, all lies. I go home with a restored sense of joy, of longing to make our home a special oasis in a tough world. To feed my family and be proud of nourishing them well. To laugh and share at a dinner table and to let my loved ones know that they matter to me and that I believe in them and what God has created is GOOD!
 So today, I say to shame, "You are useless and not only that, you are utterly false. Get out of my life. I refuse to listen to you and let you drain the colour out of my days. I choose joy." My kids aren't a burden, they are gifts. Homemaking is a good passion and I am most blessed. Go God!!! God bless the husband you chose for me. We have so much to look forward to together. I love him so.
Just thinking.

The Overflow of Horror

    I just finished trying to have a nap and I gave up because I feel like my mind and heart are overflowing with horror. The horrors of the last 7 months are catching up to me and I feel like I am now over capacity. The most sickening part of this, is that it is all the awful things that my child has suffered and not me myself. She has had to endure and feel every experience, while I have merely watched and tried to offer what comfort I could. I feel ashamed that I cannot cope better and ashamed that I am so overwhelmed at what she has gone through and I have not had to experience it in my own body.

    I think I need a list of horror. Just to catalogue it and maybe be able to give it up at last. So....

The horror of watching a Bone Marrow Biopsy on my child who is so sick that she can't be given any pain medication. Of watching her face in agony, her clinging to my hands and sobbing in pain. Her poor little face so pinched, with a black eye and the whites of her eyes all bloodshot from the force of her vomiting blood the night before.  Her leukemia is acute and rare.

    Watching the ICU team come rushing in the hospital room with their backpacks on, placing a mask on my girl who is struggling for oxygen and crying that she can't breathe as a kind nurse stands with her arm wrapped around me for support. Of wandering the hallways, unable to find the doorway they showed me as they rushed her in, telling me I would be able to see her in 3 hours. Wandering the hallways and finally someone showing me where to go. Having to use a phone to ask if I could enter the ICU to see her.

    Walking in to the room and seeing her intubated, unconscious with all the monitors you see and hear on a tv show actually monitoring my daughter. At the time I was upheld, now that I am remembering, I want to vomit. A few hours later, trying to prepare my husband and other kids as to what they had to do to see her - washing a specific way, gowns, gloves. They had flown in that night as the doctor had told us she had a 50/50 chance to make it.  Stroking her hair and unable to touch her skin as she was cytotoxic and the chemicals coming out of her skin were unsafe for us.

    The horror of her passing out on the toilet in my arms, her face grey and the nurses rushing in to help us. The loss of dignity for her and her painful weakness and violent vomiting as we got her to her bed. A few weeks later, the horror of clumps of hair coming out and taking her to get her head shaved. Watching her despair as the depths of this journey began to sink in and the ugly feeling of a bald head.

More agony as she faced another bone marrow biopsy, this time coupled with a spinal tap that left her with a blinding headache for days afterward. That headache was so bad that she had to lay with her head in my lap for the short airplane flight home.

    More horror as the leukemia showed up again and having to watch her be told that she must undergo a much harsher round of chemotherapy to hopefully put her into remission. Weeks of being so ill that she literally begged to die. A Christmas away from others, watching her suffer. The horror of counting out pills day after day, feeling like a cruel taskmaster as I had to help her take them. Forcing her back to the doctor for more appointments, asking the necessary questions that would bring her more suffering.

Going to a horrible gynecologist who was cruel in his sheer indifference and attitude when telling her she is rendered infertile because of her chemotherapy and then the indignity and pain of an ultrasound that we weren't prepared for. She cried all the way down the highway to the centre for the bone marrow biopsy. Such a callous, cruel situation and also, situated in a fertility clinic. Really? Horror.

    More chemotherapy, this time even stronger as they had to wipe out her own bone marrow (which was producing the leukemic blasts) to be replaced with her brother's stem cells. Radiation too, that made her more sick and I was there for it all, placing her on the table, helping the nurses all I could, making her sicker. This time the chemo left her with mucositis, open sores all the way from her mouth thru her intestines to her bottom.  Seeing her vomit up a feeding tube and the horror of not seeing what it was at first. Having to clean her when her bowels made a mess, having to help her out of bed and making her walk around the unit because she needed to move to gain strength. Holding her up and bodily carrying her to her bed when she passed out. Seeing her unconscious and wondering if she would look like that if she died. Horrible thoughts.

    Bringing her home, looking like a ghost and worrying for fear something would happen and I couldn't help her like the nurses. Facing her tears when she returned from a gastrointestinal scope that they didn't give her enough sedation for and she was in agony, feeling where they had biopsied her stomach and colon. Having to give her big doses of prednisone to keep her body from attacking itself and watching her suffer all the horrible side effects.

    And now this. This, being a call out of the blue from the clinic. Telling us that she would need a breast ultrasound as they had been watching a lump that needed checking. Really? Waiting for the next call, to tell us when the appt would be, agonizing over the unknown. Finally, the ultrasound. Now we're done, right? Nope, we need to biopsy this lump, we are concerned. Not to worry, breast cancer is extremely rare for your age. Little do they know, so is her kind of leukemia.  Before this breast biopsy, the horror of another bone marrow biopsy. Watching them drill into my child's hip bone, suck out bone marrow with some force and take a piece of the bone also. Tears pouring down her face, her whispers of a fear of being thought wimpy. Oh my sweet girl, never that. You are so precious. I tell her that, but still I feel so much guilt for feeling so overwhelmed with horror and I am not the one lying there in such drastic pain.

    This morning we got a call. They had time right away, can you come and get the breast biopsy done? I feel so cruel, saying yes and then I got her up. I had to tell her, to get her ready, and drive her to the clinic. Usually we walk, but because of her bone marrow biopsy, the pain was too much. They were so kind, but it was a horror just the same. To escort my beautiful, shining bald daughter in to a small room to have her breast pierced and six samples snipped out from deep inside. She is home now and sleeping, but very shaken up and in pain. Feeling violated and shedding tears. We must wait a week.

   Horror. I can't think of any other word. My soul feels simply overwhelmed, and it's not me, it's all happened to her. God have mercy.

Just thinking.

The Comfort of a Cat

    I have been away from home for 3 months. I have seen a fair amount of my family as I am only 3 hours south of my home. Why am I away from home, you ask? One of my daughters has acute myeloid leukemia and has had to have a bone marrow transplant (also known as stem cell transplant). The centre that this is done in, is a city 3 hours south of my home. Our family members have been very faithful to come and visit as often as they can. But...
    I miss my cat. She is 16 years old now, but still in great health and full of bounce. Currently, my family tells me, she is driving them nuts because she howls alot. She is looking for me. We are buddies. We have been together through some rough times in my life and her companionship has been a God-send. Plus, she's as crazy as I am.
    Growing up, we had a cat, Scamper. She was a year older than I was and a very typical, cranky cat. The fact is though, that she was always there. The best thing about Scamper was that she had a great purr - when she felt like purring. I remember going to find her after bad days at school. She was either on my mom's side of the bed, curled up in a ball or down in the basement, snuggled up on some foam mattresses that were on a shelf, ready for the next camping trip. I would find her, pet her and as she started to purr, I would lay my face on her flank and listen (until she got annoyed and bit me). The resonance of that continual sound was comfort. I figured that the world must not be coming to an end if she was still relaxed and purring with contentment. It brings tears to me even now, to remember the hurt in my heart and the sweetness of her purring.
    Since Scamper was such a crank and very much my mom's cat, I wanted one of my own. Major drawback was that I am wickedly allergic to all animals and cats have a lot of fur. Not to be dissuaded, I waited until the time was right. We had  small children and I felt ready to take on a kitten. I have since decided that 6 years of sleep deprivation were fueling my reasoning. I had been describing to my husband the exact kitten I wanted. A little gray tabby with a white bib and 4 white paws and it needed to be a female. One evening when we needed to get out of the house and go for a car ride -  children strapped in car seats and listening to Jungle Jam could be a bit of heaven back then - we decided to go to the spca. It was on the other end of town which was a major bonus! I had taken all the necessary allergy meds and we headed off!
    I remember looking into a crate and seeing her. She was sitting in the back in the litterbox, but she had a white bib and teeny little white paws. My hubby reached in to get her and she hissed at him, so he drew back. I laughed and said, "Look at the size of it! Just pick it up!", so he did. He handed her to me and I pointed out all the ways she looked like what I wanted. Someday. I was honestly convinced we were just window shopping for another time. I remember the kids were just entranced at how teeny she was and so sweet. My husband walked up to a worker and asked, "What do we have to do to take this kitten home?". I don't think there have been many times that I was so surprised and genuinely excited like that. With that, Cleo became my buddy.
    Thankfully, Cleo is very sweet natured (for a cat - she can still hold her own) and I think she believes she is part dog. She will come when called and stays wherever I am in the house. It used to creep me out when I was in the basement doing laundry and felt like I was being watched, only to look up and see the cat hanging out on a pile of clothes. I have a favourite chair at home that is where I sit in the mornings to read and have that all important first cup of coffee. Cleo's chair is right beside mine and often she will rest her paw on my leg as we are sitting, just so I know she's there. Comfort.
    The very best thing about my Cleo is her purr. God knew I would be helped by a purring cat and man, can she rumble. Her purr is constant and loud and it doesn't take much to get the motor going. During some of the very worst storms in my life, that cat will jump up, snuggle in and get the motor going. It can be God's very own love message to me, that all is well and He is on the throne. I know that my time with her is limited. She is after all, 16! Until the day we have to say goodbye, my Cleo will be a comfort and the memory of her will always be a reminder that my loving Heavenly Father is still in full control and one day, all the wrongs will be righted. Until then, we carry on. Thank you Lord, for my cat.
Just thinking!

    I am amazed at how long I have wanted to start a blog and how hard it has been to get going. I have written in journals for as long as I can remember and truth be told, I am a journal addict. I could buy fresh journals everyday and just hoard them. I love all different kinds and the way they feel exciting, all empty and fresh. No mistakes. Ah...yes. That is the Achille's Heel in all this. Perfectionism. It kills so much joy and passion. Being afraid to even start because it is never good enough. Or comes out like I want it to. Or, I fail by not writing EVERY DAY.
    Seriously. Get over it. As I say to my kids, "if a friend was telling you this story, what would you say?". I use this to help them not dismiss their own hearts and downplay their pain. Anyway, I would tell my friend, "Push thru. Who cares whether you do it perfectly? Just do it! Enjoy and don't let your joy be stolen like that". Okay then....here we go! (that wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be!)
Just thinking!