report card

The black lines curve over, around and down until they form letters that are carried up to my searching eyes and into my heart. My son's Grade One report card sits on the table and I sit, hands clenched tight.

I read letters strung together into words, broken apart by paragraphs in an unfamiliar succession as I decode a stranger's assessment of my first born. I earnestly search for proof that she sees the same little boy I love, that she gets to nurture all day in my place, and watch him grow in mind and body. She sees pieces of him, fragments of who I know he is, and provides comments that warm my heart and stretch my readiness to grow as a parent.

It is such a strange thing that each weekday, I hand my child over to the care of others. I so desperately want to remain the focus of his world, but in the absence of me, I yearn that others see the essence of who my little boy is while in their world.

Do they see his heart? Do they understand his frustrations? Do they take time to talk with him, instead of rushing through him? Do they see his willingness and forgive his sloppiness? I think often of creating a heart translator that he may carry around so others may see and understand the intent of a six-year old doesn't always carry over to actions.

Restless legs, a chattering mouth and inquiring personality frequently carry him beyond the orderliness of his assigned seat. He seeks to explore questions of his world, while I seek to implore wisdom of the people within it.

Together, mother and son are both assessed on growth, willingness to learn and application of lessons. And while I'm certain there will always be room for improvement, there must also be grace that allows us to honour our truest selves along the way.

taking time

Taking time to receive His gifts...

1331. Sick days to recharge.
1332. Hurried mornings with kids.
1333. Daughter's baby bear sitting in her carseat "to be safe" until I pick her up from daycare.

1334. Dog who eats morning cheerios that spilled all over the carpet.
1335. Boy who can make his own breakfast - but not too big yet that he needs mommy to help clean up the mess. XOXO
1336. Waking up in the night to grab my little girl and bring her into my room. Totally selfish on my part - but my heart needed it.
1337. Nana and Papa who watch and play with their grandchildren.
1338. Turkey dinner with all the trimmings because it's a Sunday. Thanks mama.
1339. Watching my husband play a sport he loves.
1340. Candles and cozy blankets.
1341. curling up to sleep under a fluffy duvet blanket.
1342. Watching daughter run down a soccer field. Such joy in her eyes.
1343. Oatmeal muffins in the oven.
1344. Hearing the words "I love you mommy" everyday.
1345. Husband's smile.
1346. Dog who follows me around the house.
1347.An extra paycheque.
1348. Reminders to rest.
1349. A beautiful, warm fall season.
1350. Watching the miracle of pregnancy develop with my two sisters.
1351. Just because love notes.
1352. My son's two grown up teeth.
1353. Son drawing whipped cream happy face on pumpkin pie.

pausing in thanks to receive His giving...

Reflecting on the gifts my heart received this weekend of Thanksgiving...

1321.

1322.

1323.

1324.

1325.

1326.

1327.

1328.

1329.

1330.

beautifully awesome

My very thoughtful friend Claire directed me to this post...which I absolutely love. It's from this blog and this is her writing:

There was a time when you were five years old,

and you woke up full of awesome.

You knew you were awesome.

You loved yourself.

You thought you were beautiful,

even with missing teeth and messy hair and mismatched socks inside your grubby sneakers.

You loved your body, and the things it could do.

You thought you were strong.

You knew you were smart.

  

Do you still have it?

The awesome.

Did someone take it from you?

Did you let them?

Did you hand it over, because someone told you weren’t beautiful enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough?

Why the hell would you listen to them?

Did you consider they might be full of shit?

Wouldn’t that be nuts, to tell my little girl below that in another five or ten years she might hate herself because she doesn’t look like a starving and Photoshopped fashion model?

Or even more bizarre, that she should be sexy over smart, beautiful over bold?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Look at her. She is full of awesome.

You were, once. Maybe you still are. Maybe you are in the process of getting it back.

All I know is that if you aren’t waking up feeling like this about yourself, you are really missing out.

____________________________

Melissa Atkins Wardy advocates and writes about issues involving the sexualization of girlhood. You can read her blog at:http://blog.pigtailpals.com . It is time we change the way we think about our girls.

Here's my girl showcasing her very own line of awesomeness!

(she dressed herself...just in case you needed any clarification :)

intentionally on purpose...mostly

"What defines us?" I ask my husband while we clean up the toast crumbs that escaped from our children's hungry mouths at lunch.

He pauses before answering. I keep my eyes down, not wanting to let him examine my thoughts. I know he is looking to read my face, to know if this question is a set-up to which he cannot answer in any way that would make me happy (you know those questions, like do you think she's pretty?).

I decide to rescue him. "It just seems like everyone else's family has their thing. I just wonder what ours is." It's now my turn to pause, to sort out my scattered thoughts, as I rinse the last of our dishes under the hot water. "Most of the time I feel like we're watching everyone else enjoy close relationships and, I..."

Now husband leans against the counter, waiting for me to continue. "I just feel like we aren't getting anything out of what we choose to do with our time. I want to be more intentional with what we do, and who we choose to do things with."

I put my eyes down again and scrape some melted cheese off the counter with my fingernail. The truth is, I miss my friends. I miss my kids playing with their kids. I miss being a part of their lives and having them be a part of mine.

My husband sees this. He reads the slump in my shoulders and the tension in my heart. "I want to be more intentional too." He draws me close. "I think we're ready for that now."

I lean back into him, thankful for his strength and his comfort.

We are ready.

XOXO

falling down

I love fall. The comfort of it. The smell of it. But most of all I love the permissions this season brings.


I am permitted to slow down.  Let go. Retreat. Snuggle. Take comfort. Look inward. Reflect.


Autumn always speaks to my soul. And I want to take the time to listen to what my soul is saying.


There have been a lot of changes in my life since last fall. I have begun to find myself, through my own journey and through circumstances that have consumed me.

I have also journeyed on a ribbon of a thing called grace, and lived through with beyond my wildest expectations hopes that God could work a miracle in my own heart and that of the one I love to bring two lost hearts back together again.


I honestly did not think it was possible to laugh again. I had forgotten what it felt like to smile and know that everything was alright.  I forgot what it was like to trust - in others, myself and in God. And yet, through it all, there was always a glimmer of hope.


My husband and I have made it a fall ritual to watch Lord of the Rings. One scene in particular has always captivated my thoughts, and the dialogue has been running through my heart and mind over the past year:

Frodo: I can't do this, Sam. 

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end.  

Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come.

And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why.

But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something. 

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam? 

Sam:  That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

I too, had lots of chances to turn back. There were many times when I wanted to shut everything and everyone out and allow the enemy to turn my heart into an unfeeling piece of stone. But somehow I found the strength to hold onto a small corner of my heart. This one last piece of flesh fought to survive in my world of cold stone and shadows. A beating reminder there is still hope to feel, move forward, and grow. Somewhere, somehow, I knew there had to be hope for a hopeless situation.


And God delivered.


God's love has, and will always be, the one thing that is absolute. Through Him, I am a living testament that He is constant and there will always be a new day. I have made it through the long shadow, and by God's grace, I am stronger in the knowledge that my heart is worth fighting for. 


And so is yours, dear friend.

treasure

"Don't let go, okay mommy?"

My little man pleads these words out of his pursed lips as the tips of his toes balance him on his shiny red BMX bike.  The wobbly movements on the steel frame match the wobbly knees of a boy who is breaking free of training wheels, ready to blaze his own path on his own terms. I grip the back of his shirt in my fist, holding tight to the little boy I used to hold tight to my chest.

He's ready now. He scoots forward with his toes tapping the black asphalt, one leg hesitantly lifting, searching for the black pedal while his body leans left, then right....I hold on....

His other foot now finds the back pedal and he balances strong, propelling himself forward...he gains speed, confidence....and I let go...

My vision is blurred with tears as I shout "you're doing it baby!! You're doing it!!" He rides down the street, while his daddy, sister and mommy shriek in pure delight. Praise to a boy who overcame his fear of falling, praise to a boy who pushes his limits and praise to a boy who fills my heart with so much joy.

There have been many boundaries pushed, expanded and redrawn this week for my little six-year old.

A new big-boy room where hockey heros replaced somersaulting bunnies and a giant tree. The yellow bus now carries my boy to his full day adventures in Grade One, and I get to relive his day as he recounts the recess games, music class musical chairs and colouring projects. I get lost in his story-telling, loving the way his th's sound like zaaa's and the way his big gap-toothed smile melts my heart.

I want to take it all in and remember these details forever.

"Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart" Luke 2:19, NIV

Today I ponder my treasure that has been gifted to me by God...
1301. Mama learning to let go, and boy who can now fly on his bike.
1302. Handy husband who created a hanging bed for our boy's room.
1303. Boy who delights in using his money to buy candy from the store, and shares his bounty with everyone (including the neighbours)
1304. Grandparents who create magic in a bike ride.
1305. Daughter who always puts her underwear on inside out.
1306. Husband who has life in his eyes.
1307. Floating down the river with my boy and his uncles.
















1308. Winding our way through a cornmaze.
1309. Daughter who always gives me morning cuddles.
1310. Beautiful last days of summer.
1311. Healthy kids who love to laugh.
1312. Grape hubba-bubba and blowing giant bubbles.
1313. New classroom and his very own desk.
1314. Chocolate ice-cream covered faces.




















1315. Outdoor movie nights with friends.
1316. Husband's gift of balancing our finances.
1317. Uncle who is under doctor's watch.
1318. New clothes for school.
1319. Travel plans for me and husband.
1320. For this day.

Join me in counting your blessings?

childish love

Feeling especially thankful for my kids today...

1284. Big, long-limbed son climbing into my lap.
1285. Giggling at my daughter's description of "mixed trails" (trail mix)
1286. Son's gap-toothed smile.
1287. Freshly bathed kids who smell like soap.
1288. Lop-sided pigtails in my daughter's hair.
1289. Book reading requests from my kids.
1290.Being silly with my son.
1291. Calling for mommy over and over and over :)
1292. Lego games with my son.
1293. Marvelling at six-year old son eating three chicken thighs, scoops of corn and five perogies, full glass of milk and a piece of peanut butter-honey toast. (and recalling how much I could eat as a child).
1294. "negotiating" time with my daughter.
1295. Daughter s-l-o-w-l-y eating her dinner at the table (one day, I'm sure, I'll miss this)
1296. Daughter asking me to cuddle her on the couch.
1297. Daughter slumped over heavy as she sleeps in her carseat.
1298.Daughter telling me that she loves me and that I love her back.
1299. Voice memos left by the kids on my phone.
1300.Daughter promising me that she'll love me forever and ever and ever.

fears and breadcrumbs

I've felt myself slipping lately.

Sleepless nights compounded with a frantic, hectic schedule leave me red-faced and panting, trying to keep up. Life is on speed, racing around the corners of the calendar without so much as a glance back to me. I am caught in the details, bogged down in a mess of anxieties. My attention has been sabotaged by the worries of today - those clever little woulda coulda shouldas have ripped my sight down, hard, inwards, to the ugliness of my inadequacies.

What if the very worst that people thought about me was true? Worse yet, what if the very worst I thought about myself was true? 

As knower of all my transgressions, by thought or action, I know the darkness that greedily feeds on my fears. This dangerous terrain of consciousness that knows no limits of space or time, sleep nor wakefulness, seeds of thought or full-bloomed action... where can I go to find refuge from myself?

I've conditioned myself that my fears are warnings to be heeded, that I need to protect myself. I need to act responsibly to make sure I won't can't be hurt by others. So I build walls. At first these walls were to keep people out so they couldn't hurt me. But now the walls are closing in, and I am the one who is kept away from others. I read a reminder today that asked "do my defences keep me safe, or do they isolate me?" Isolation and fear are a dangerous, toxic combination. I am gasping for air.

Like the fable of Hansel and Gretel, God has left me bread-crumbs to show me the way back home. Unlike the story, these breadcrumbs lie undisturbed, waiting for me - with no other agenda but to show me the way back to safety, to home. He has intentionally placed them in my sight, encouraging me to move towards His nourishment and away from my mind's prison. My focus is on His promise that I - who is torn, battered, bruised and deeply flawed - am made perfect through His grace. He continually whispers to my soul that everything will be fine, hang on, help is on the way, stay strong, trust that He is taking care of everything. His truth speaks clearly: I. AM. HERE.

I continue to grab handfuls of His breadcrumbs that He has left especially for me...

1262. Support meetings.
1263. Getting stronger.
1264. Mama who watches my babies.
1265. Waking up to thunderstorms.
1266. Drawings from my daughter.
1267. Son's excitement over another loose tooth.
1268. Knowing that even on my weakest days I get a bit stronger.
1269. The scent of rain.
1270. Watching my garden grow.
1271. Hope.
1272. God's faith in me.
1273. Telling myself I'll be okay.
1274. Family trip to amusement park with my best cousins.
1275. Kudos from my boss.
1276. Lunches at the picnic table by the pond.
1277. Vacation plans with my husband.
1278. Kissing my sleeping children's warm cheeks before I go to bed.
1279. Watching my son play hockey again.
1280. Laughter that comes so easy to my kids.
1281. Freshly washed sheets.
1282. Fresh flowers on my table.
1283. God-inspired words.

in thanks

Today I am most thankful for fresh starts. Knowing that there is always an opportunity to start over, to bow down humbly in apology, and to know that the other doesn't have to do anything with it - because He has heard it, and my soul's burden is lifted because I know the truth and sincerity behind the words I messily offer - to that person, to God and to myself.

I thank God for gifting me with sunrises to remind me of rebirth, a fresh day and the freedom to light up the dark skies with the unmistakable first break of light. And tonight I am so incredibly thankful that God has led me to this point where I can let go of past mistakes, bask in His grace, and breathe deep knowing that it's never too late.

pausing to notice

The rain falls its steady drops outside my bedroom window. It's late and the house is quiet, except for the occasional brushing of the blinds against the sage green walls.  I lie still under the white duvet, tucked in and waiting for sleep to take me over. My thoughts are heavy and my spirit weary, as I whisper thanks to my Father. I yawn loud and roll over to face the window. Cleansing rain lulls me to sleep, its sweet scent washing over my senses as I breathe the moment in deep...

Continuing my list of thanks...

1239. Healthy children - there seems to be so many children (and consequently, their parents) suffering. God be with them.
1240. Big grin on my son as he scores his soccer goals.
1241. Daughter who chats non-stop with me.  These times are precious.
1242. Husband who is patient with me.
1243. Letting down walls.
1244. New car smell.
1245. Clipping fresh parsley out of my garden.
1246. Going outside of my comfort zone.
1247. Reminders of nature's wild side.
1248. Dental coverage.
1249. Hearing my daughter sing herself to sleep.
1250. Emergency service workers.
1251. Children who want to snuggle.
1252. My mama's homemade macaroni salad. Mmmmmm...thank goodness for leftovers!
1253. Lint rollers (dog hair is everywhere!)
1254. An evening out with my cousin. Great conversation.
1255. Falling asleep to rain.
1256.The hum of the dishwasher.
1257. Charting my daughter's growth on the wall.
1258. My job.
1259. Reminders of what God wants me to work on.
1260. Walking my dog. Quiet time to think and say nothing.
1261. Answered prayers!

Join me in counting your blessings?

letting go

Well, hello there! Long time, no chat. I have been MIA for five weeks, f-i-v-e weeks...and the truth is, I've really missed hanging out here. But more importantly, my soul has missed being here. As in, here, the now, in thanksgiving. Too often as of late, I've been wrestling my will away from His will - caught up in my own ambitions {wanting to prove to myself that I deserve the title at my new job}, goals {getting my life, house and finances in order} and schedules {between daycare, dadcare, momcare, schoolcare and soccercare}. Excuses are plenty, but the reality remains - I've drifted away from my anchor. But now that I've reached the end of my rope, He's tugging me back. I'm too exhausted to swim anymore. I grab hold of His lifeline and make the journey back, hand over hand, deliberately moving towards safety.

I remember boating with my dad at my cousin's lake. We had a seahawk inflatable that we would tow behind the boat. At the ripe age of 13, I remember sprawling my bony knees over each of the seahawk's puffed up wings, and white-knuckle grip the handles tight. I remember the sound of the waves lapping against the boat's fibreglass as dad would look over his shoulder and call out if I was ready. All I could do was nod, and then he put the boat in gear. The seahawk's nose would point stubbornly up at the sky as the boat's speed picked up and I would crest above the waves. Now safe in the wake of the boat, I glided giddily atop the white-freckled water. Dad always joked that I was too light to dump in the water. Turn after turn, I goaded Dad on as I became more prideful in my "technique" of riding the seahawk. But an adolescent's arrogance is no match for a father who understands physics. 

We called it cracking the whip. And I always saw it coming.

Dad would head into a wide turn with the boat, then double back the other way so the waves from the two wakes would create a torrent of rapids. Then he would slow down, just enough to put slack in the rope, then punch it. I could literally hear the rope snap to attention, almost in slow motion, as the slack whistled heavy and pulled hard. It was in this moment, as I watched the inevitable lesson in whiplash come my way, that I had to decide...stay on or let go.

My ego inevitably convinced the rational side of me that this time I could hold on and make it through the whip and waves. And again and again, my ego abandoned the seahawk mid-flight as the handles were torn right out from my grip, and my face would slap hard into the water and I'd drink at least a week's supply of water before rising to the surface of the lake.

(not me, but you get the idea)

I would always look for dad, and he'd come circling around in our blue and white boat, with a big grin on his face - always asking the same question: had enough? I'd sheepishly pull myself up over the side of the boat and claim my towel as I sat shivering on the cracked blue plastic seats.

My father knew what only experience could teach me - my limits. And again, my Godly father is offering the same lesson - know my limits - and  know that God will always be there to rescue me (and like my father, I'm sure, marvel at the air I achieved on the last wipeout...)

Today, my limits aren't as obvious as slack in a rope, but I can still feel the anxiety when I'm faced with the decision to white-knuckle it, or get back in the boat.

Today, I want to get back in the boat with my Father. Then I know we'll both be smiling- and on the right side of the water...

In continuation with celebrating the gifts God has placed in my life;

1212. singing both my children to sleep, and watching as their eyes flutter to sleep. Marvelling at how perfectly God matched us up. I am so blessed.
1213. Watching my daughter play on her very first soccer team. And watching her big brother celebrating the goals and being the other "coach".
1214. Quiet time to read with my husband, outside in the sun under the pergola.
1215. Dinner with family.
1216. Movie night out with just our little family.
1217. Real conversations.
1218. Great memories of my daddy.
1219. A job that God led me to, and me being smart enough to follow (at least this time!)
1220. Growing our very first garden.
1221. Seeing the miracle of seeds pushing mass amount of soil away, reaching for the light...
1222. Plans to go camping this summer (and great friends who are loaning us their tent trailer, so very grateful!)
1223. Hearing the kids' laughter outside as they have summer-infused playtime.
1224. Having a great friend at work.
1225. Clean bed sheets.
1226. Season's first corn on the cob.
1227. Hard belly laughs that cause me to cry.
1228. Dreaming of world travel with my husband.
1229. Reminders that God is here.
1230. Learning lessons.
1231. Son who sings me songs.
1232. Daughter who makes me drawings at daycare.
1233. A daycare that I feel comfortable with and that my kids enjoy (quite a feat, if you ask me!)
1234. Grass under my toes.
1235. The scent of lilacs.
1236. My mama who takes my daughter to dance class every week.
1237. Raspberry bushes from grandparent's back yard.
1238. Daughter who snuggles close as she sleeps.

Care to join me in giving thanks?

quiet time

The sun is playing peek-a-boo through the white curtains while the windows let out a long exhale as our winter-worn house is refreshed by the cool spring breeze.

Rugs are vacuumed, counters boast a crumb-free shine and daughter sleeps content on top of her wrinkled blanket. Little man is navigating the city while checking off the errand list with his daddy.

Quiet moments whisper life to my soul. 

I am thankful for time to listen to my own breath as it moves through me. I am thankful for moments I can dive into, rather than rush past. I am thankful for now and so much more...

1188. Hearing the birds sing.
1189. Daughter snuggling close to me.
1190. Watching movies.
1191. Easter egg dipping with kids and family.

1192. Son who bows down to kiss the cross (he did this on his own at the Good Friday service, my heart pounded with joy).
1193. Hearing my son explain to his little sister that Good Friday is good because Jesus died to save us from the "bad guys".
1194. Down time.
1195. Colouring with Grandma.
1196. Feeling content.
1197. Plans for summer.
1198. New Easter dress and bonnet for my baby girl.
1199. Easter plans with family.
1200. God in my life.
1201. Lovely people to work with.
1202. Knowing the truth.
1203. Standing tall.
1204. Drawings from my children.
1205. Seeing grass again!
1206. Clean water to drink.
1207. Listening to daughter's bathtime stories.
1208. Giggling with my son as he tells me he speaks "whine" (for daughter's cranky days).
1209. Son telling me that he really likes sports (and listening to him describe how he wants his room to look).
1210. Watching daughter play on her backyard swing. So content.
1211. Son's chalkboard drawings for Spring.

they know not what they do

On a day when sacrifice was made with His very life... to save mine...without the people even knowing, understanding...He selflessly drew in His last breath, to the sound of people spewing hate while His body dripped blood. They drew their assumptions, dipped with vile ignorance and self-importance, onto His pitted and bruised body.  

His best friends long gone - hiding in the dark shadows of fear, leaving Him exposed for all. But He, who hangs there with arms wide open, crucified by those who sang praises to Him but days earlier - He still whispers forgiveness in  syllables, words - Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing...

In the midst of suffering, there is always grace. Even in death.

PBJ with a side of grace

Three elements glow hot on the sauce-splattered stovetop while my patience grows thin. I am down to dinner idea number three, thanks to a shortage of tomato soup and ready-mix sauce that I swore was in the wire-ladden pantry. I rush, flustered, to the computer in search of a recipe to whip this dinner into order. Tummies are empty and the day runs long. I scramble to mix a little bit of this with a splash of that, all the while half-listening to my son tell me about his Lego conquests while I mumble frustration with myself.

Daughter leans heavy on the countertop and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass commands our attention. The plate lays broken in a myriad of pieces while daughter falls to pieces with tears. I shout angry and the door slams heavy to her room. The pasta sauce now bubbles thick, cheese bits glommed together in  an awkward union.  Dinner idea number three is ruined; three stikes, I'm out. My tears now join my daughter's as we both tantrum like children.

But grace is made especially for the undeserving - and this night, my son shows me grace. He sets the table quietly and then bounds up the stairs.

Within a few moments, his six-year old arms are juggling homemade cards, drawings and colourful flowers. He smiles broadly and tells me he is "decorating the table with his accessories". He walks proudly over to the table and arranges love onto the table. I inhale his grace and pull out a loaf of bread.

While he places the candle at the centre of the table, I spread peanut butter and jam thick. I gather up daughter, wipe her tears and join my son at the table. He leans over and asks me if I feel better. I grasp his hand and hold tight, "Thank you, for you, my boy. You make Mommy's heart happy." We all join hands and thank God for His presence. Son takes a bite of his sandwich and grins large while saying "This is the best supper, ever."

Amen to that.

Among the midst of bread crumbs and shattered glass, I take inventory of God's graces on me:
1170. A boy who can see my heart.
1171. Daughter who needs mommy's cuddles.
1172. Family to help with childcare.
1173. Fitting in at my new job.
1174. Lowering my expectations and increasing my joy.
1175. The ear-to-ear grin of my son while he plays hockey.

1176. Hearing my son's name announced on the hockey PA system.
1177. SKOR chocolate bars.
1178. Income.
1179. Hugging my son tight.
1180. A clean house (for the moment!)
1181. The sound of ice melting outside.
1182. Hearing my friend's voice from the other side of the world.
1183. Not having to know the answers.
1184. Ice cubes in my water.
1185. Dining out.
1186. Freshly washed sheets.
1187. Help around the house.

sacrificial doubt

I remember growing up in the Catholic church and I would dread the beginning of Lent because it meant I had to give up something I really loved (at least that was my interpretation of it at the time). Many times I "fasted" from chocolate, all the while making sure all my friends and family knew it whenever the creamy, cocoa-laden, melt-in-my-mouth heaven-here-on-earth delicacy was served.  This went on for years, decades.

This year, Lent carries a whole new meaning of sacrifice for me. Old routines, comforts and securities have been made nearly unrecognizable, somedays reduced to a quivering mirage in the desert. Emotions of guilt, anger and loneliness burn white-hot at the centre of my soul. 

Doubt permeates my every thought, spreading cancerous half-truths to my parched, grumbling, weak centre of self.  And it is here - in this foresaken pit - that I finally understand what Lent really is about. 

I believe Lent is a time for me to be broken...to be lost and insecure and without any control. Because it is only when I am stripped of my worldly-born beliefs that I can fully be restored in the belief of the heavenly sent - My Saviour. 

This is when faith walks out of the fires of doubt...refined, reenergized and ready.

With faith, I am capable of letting go of doubt and its beastly minions. Each moment - and I must live moment to moment - carries the promise of faith. The cost of faith is to lay down my doubts and sacrifice my need for control. 

I look to Him to show me the way out of this desert...through faith and sacrifice...

the chase

{I am honoured to have this post highlighted today over at the High Calling}

The ache of loneliness rolls around the quiet chambers - disturbed as the echoes of laughter dance around the dark corners, teasingly. I crave the long, hard belly laugh. I chase, long legs stretched in awkward movement, as I breathlessly run quick after. Laughter vanishes. Again.

Discouraged, I slump angrily against the cold, familiar walls. I glance out the barred window. Shadows grow heavy as the sun dips long over the white horizon. My breath freezes cold as I pant heavily, still gasping from the chase. Out-run, out-witted and out-of-shape, I wallow.  

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Hurts - bloody, red and oozing, throb with an unimaginable intensity. Distractions prove fleeting and words - full of promises- lie, deflated, on the parched and broken ground. Battles of the will and heart are no match for the intricacies of the mind's warfare.

The disease runs deep.


But so too, does hope. 

Hope for him. Hope for me. Hope for today. Hope lingers close when I shiver cold and angry. Hope warmly smiles when my eyes cry pain. Hope is a constant - always nearby, ready to catch my glance.

I mark these sightings of hope as living proof there is more...there is still happiness available for my taking. I lunge forward with renewed fever, arms wide, ready to capture all that is laid out for me.

1152. Daughter who asks me to put her pretty crown on for her.
1153. Daughter then telling me that I'm the princess, and that I look pretty (even after just waking up with bad hair, bad breath and black circles under my eyes).
1154. Son's excitement to figure out how the new cordless kettle works. His mind amazes me.
1155. Words of shared encouragement with another sister of Christ.
1156. Blueberries and waffles.
1157. Giggling at strawberry-stained teeth with my daughter.
1158. Communion with God on Sunday morning - I knew He would be there.
1159. Seeing an adult woman giggle in delight when it was her turn to line up for communion.
1160. Worshipping with broken hearts.
1161. Request for a song list.
1162. Little man flexing his muscles and asking mommy to feel his "little bumps".
1163. Son making a photo album of his favourite pictures.
1164. painting family day pictures with my two kids and seeing the happiness that they paint.
1165. Daughter going skating for the first time.
1166. Sweaty son after a fun time of hockey.
1167. Smell of chicken stock simmering on the stove. Soul food.
1168. Neighbour to help with childcare.
1169. Listing thanks as a way to raise my spirit. Thank you, God.

getting it

Time and means finally merge together, after a long evasive dance, on a Friday afternoon with my mom. A day I'd been grasping for, a day with no limits on time, no tiny fingers tapping my shoulder for yet another bowl of crackers, or voices colliding at impossible octaves for my attention.  The curser blinked positive at four copies available at the bookstore across town.

Mom and I reach the destination after walking corridors of the world's largest mall, stopping to try on new blouses and freshly pressed pants for my rebirth into the working world. But crisp white blouses paired with delicate ruffles serve only to distract the observer from the hard shadows and wounds my soul carries. I've come to the religion section of the tidy, alphabetized, orderly store to lay down my payment in the hopes of restoring my messy, dyslexic, seemingly random life.

Together, mother and daughter are seeking the known. I trace my fingerprints on the printed names of the dust jackets.  The weight of my own winter jacket creases hot on my arm as I bend to my knees, sighing softly as I breathe out the author's name to my mom. Isn't it God's way that I would be forced to bow down to receive His gift of thanks?

I claim my copy - one of four and hold it close. A tangible weight of thankfulness resting in my hand. Mom and I sit quiet on the floor, purses and purchases cast aside -  I smile big. We rest our weary legs and gather energy from the titles that surround us. A staff member, adorned in her apron and buttons, pokes her head down at us. She smiles and asks us if we found everything we're looking for. I smile yes, and we joke that we are absorbing the Word through osmosis. Her eyes twinkle and she laughs easy and says grace by osmosis and we agree.

Tonight, while husband is playing table hockey with the kids and then bathing them clean from the marks of the day, I crack the crease-less spine and finger the ivory pages that host the words God wants needs me to know. I breathe deep.


Ann Voskamp's words flow from the pages into my soul. My pen underlines black to punctuate the starkness of the truth. Sixty-one pages later, I've dog-eared too many pages - trying to open the dam that I've built around myself. I want these words to leak into my soul's reservoir, to replenish the life-giving waters that I've let sit dangerously low. 

As Ann writes: "Something always comes to fill the empty places. And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic, I make a place for God to grow within me." (p.59,  One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are , Ann Voskamp).

Today I feel less empty. I feel renewed to live my messy life here in the in-between, to take comfort in what I don't have to know, and to find freedom in not having to define myself by the measure of today's heartbreak.

I nod my head enthusiastically at Ann's words: "To that which tears open our souls, those holes that splatter our sight, may actually become the thin, open places to see through the mess of this place to the heart-aching beauty beyond. To Him. To the God whom we endlessly crave." (p. 22, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are , Ann Voskamp).

It has been one and a half years since I wrote my first list of thanksgiving. Since then, my world has been shaken, stirred and poured thin.  I've watched pillars of trust crumble, boundary lines erased and redrawn, and felt the shame, rage, helplessness and despair that strongholds leave in their consuming wake.

But through it all, especially through it all, I searched and screamed for God to show me His presence. And when I chose to open my eyes, rather than joining the darkness by squeezing my eyes tightly shut, He. Was. There.

I have over a thousand recordings to prove it.  Ann knows this truth: " ...thanksgiving is what precedes the miracle of that salvation being fully worked out in our lives."  (p.40, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are , Ann Voskamp).


By acknowledging and accepting God's gifts, He holds me tight and reminds me that He is still here - beside me, ready to save me fully with His gifts that bear my name.

1136. Ann Voskamp's God -inspired words that remind me that God knows.
1137. The way my three-year old daughter holds her palms up, shrugs her shoulders and says, "Mom, why didn't you say so?"
1138. Chocolate thumb-print stain on the back cover of my One Thousand Gifts book.
1139. Goofy self-portraits of me and my son.
1140. Hearing both kids chime in unison, "mommy, we neeeeeeed you" for bedtime prayers.
1141. Spending time shopping with my mama.
1142. Cupcakes baked and delivered by a great friend.
1143. Husband who's learning to feel again.
1144. Placing pizza toppings on homemade pizzas with my kids.
1145. Son who falls asleep excitedly at the promise of being moved into mommy's bed later tonight.
1146. Signing my job offer.
1147. Emails of support from those who've been here.
1148. Inspiration to write.
1149. Lotion for my chapped, winter-tired hands.
1150. Son munching on a giant carrot while watching TV.
1151. Strength to smile and know that through God, all things are possible.

Ann is discussing her book, chapter by chapter, over at InCourage as part of their bookclub. Maybe I'll meet you over there? ~Sherri-Dawn






I'm also joining Emily over at imperfect prose:

the little things

Continuing to actively seek out God's love notes for me:

1112. Extra loonies to wash the van.
1113. Love notes from my daughter (she "wrote" me two today!)
1114. Real truths
1115. Birthday party plans for my soon-to-be six-year old (!!)
1116. Massage booked for tomorrow and a kind friend to watch my kids.

1117. My fashionista helping me shovel the driveway.
1118. Dad shoveling my driveway while I'm out running errands.
1119. Plans with my mom.
1120. Songs to lighten my mood.
1121. Holding my daughter's little hand as I fall asleep.
1122. My health (even this stomach bug can't last too long)
1123. Childcare arrangements for when I go back to work.
1124. My new job! A new chapter begins.
1125. Getting my kids into the daycare of my choice. I'm excited for them to attend this program.
1126. Lit candles on a dark night.
1127. Not having to go out tonight. Comfy sweats for me.
1128. Inspiring words.
1129. Space to breathe.
1130. Dog who follows me around the house.
1131. Peppermint tea for sick tummies.
1132. Homemade valentines.
1133. Hot chocolate with marshmallows.
1134. Remote car starter that's finally fixed!
1135. Knowing that I'm not alone.