13 Hours of Rain

"It's Brown Bear's birthday today. He's three," you grin at me as you squeeze your precious stuffed bear. Your eyes twinkle with delight. You disappear for about half an hour as I answered morning e-mails. I see you grab the Spiderman gift wrap. Some tape. Various pieces of cardboard and cotton puffs. You come back with two makeshift packages. "I've wrapped some presents for Brown Bear. Where should I put them?" you inquire. "Under the tree," I smile at your ingenuity and thoughtfulness. After all, if it's Brown Bear's birthday, he's gotta receive some gifts! "So, what did you buy Brown Bear?" "Some bones. And a bowl for his food." My son, you are creative and imaginative. I marvel (and sometimes cringe) at the battle scenes you enact with your Lego creations. I chuckle as you belt out songs from the bathroom during your morning routine. I swell with joy when I see you creating a Batmobile ...

We were challenged this Sunday to intentionally ask fellow believers if they confessed their need of Jesus today and if they read their Bible today. The speaker wasn't being rhetorical in his challenge, but rather desired for each one of us to ask one person, every day, this week, those hard -- but essential -- questions, until next Sunday. Part of me cringed at the thought, envisioning the whole awkwardness of the scenario, the quasi-judgmental nature of the query. What would a person think if I bluntly asked them, "So... did you read your Bible today? What did you read? Did you pray to Christ that you need Him to save you today?" Whoa... hold on a minute... My sister is a woman of refreshing candor. I know that eventually, in a face-to-face conversation, she will ask me how I am doing spiritually. Often, she'll phrase it as, "So, how is your heart today?" I know the aim of her sentimental question. She wants me to disclose the deep down "spiritual s...

I sat around a table surrounded by various church leaders in our city. There was mostly men present, a few women, and only one visible minority (that is, me). The pastor hosting the meeting welcomed us and showed us a video clip of a Lebanese pastor who, in spite of a small congregation, obeyed the call to assist 1,500 Syria refugee families. The command "Love your enemies" took on a real meaning as the congregation welcomed destitute person after destitute person. God equipped and provided in miraculous ways. The video clip was paused, and our host looked at us with conviction, "If they can welcome 1,500 families, we certainly can welcome a few." All of us nodded in agreement. I am pleased to confess that I was delightfully wrong. In Daunting {But Not Impossible} , I wondered if anyone in this corner of the prairies would ever be compelled to welcome refugee families to this city. I felt overwhelmed with the need across the ocean and wondered what in the world ...

It is quiet this morning. All of you are off to school. I am devoid of employment, again (November may be a zero pay cheque month). And I should do some housework. Yet I sit here, hearing the clickity-clack of my keyboard with a smile on my face. I. Am. Not. Busy. Busy. Our culture is way too busy. And any free time we have, we tend to spend in front of a screen (I'm guilty here). Times have changed. There are numerous ways that I can keep track of events at your school. Facebook. Twitter. You Tube. Website. School Newsletter. Teacher Newsletters. And a class blog. The sad thing is that many someones out there have to make sure that all the feeds, either virtual or real, are updated and kept consistent. Oh. My. Word. I guess I am more old fashion since I read only the paper updates and, yes, the class blog. Lately, I've encountered a few exhausted parents. Parents who are running all over this city or this corner of the prairies, transporting their children from here ...

Yesterday, I started to type out my family's genealogy, starting at my great-grandparents.  Within two minutes, I was frustrated -- frustrated over the lack of details including the absence of key names, dates and locations. Part of me wanted to give up and exclaim to you two children that, "Sorry, our genealogy begins with just your Nana and Nani. We'll build it from there!" Yet, my desire to continue prevailed, to somehow piece together the scanty details and display some sort of hodgepodge lineage. It seems like a frustratingly daunting task. I will try to complete it somehow. I once asked my parents why they have pathetic records in terms of their own family (I phrased it much more respectful than that). They explained that East-Indians usually don't keep such details, as it is considered intrusive and rude to ask your elders where you came from. Maybe I've become too "Western" but that seems like a ridiculous reason not to disclose your mother...

The life of a substitute teacher is far from glamorous. Well, my life in particular. With an availability schedule that is every other day (because of J.'s KG) along with a system that requires the teacher to find their own substitute teacher, I am averaging two calls a month. Definitely not glamorous income-wise. It is difficult not to become discouraged. And for a person like me who thrives under affirmation and avoids situations that lead to failure, I feel exactly that -- a failure. And it is tough, when you know that you are a good teacher -- definitely better than average -- with years of education (sorry if that sounded prideful). Yet, at best, I'm a twice-a-month substitute, carrying out someone else's plans which usually consists of much supervision and glorified "baby-sitting". Ugh. For years, I have felt in control of my destiny. I am a control-freak. Intellectually I know that God is ultimately in control. Yet, I often operate as if it all depend...

If membership is just the ability to vote at a meeting and hold a key leadership position in my church, it actually doesn't appeal to me that much. However, if membership has the potential to foster grace-based, authentic relationships where we are each other's advocates in this Christ centered journey, then I am more inclined to become a member than ever before.

We voted for change.

Our church experience in this town has been a roller coaster of emotions. We have gone from "What a friendly place!" to "Why in the world do they do it this way? It makes no sense..." to "Should we leave and attend somewhere else?" to "Hey, someone actually understands our perspective!" to "Yes! Good things are happening here!" to "So, should we become members?" Our church has done a commendable job in presenting a renewed Membership process. Both your Daddy and I have appreciated the teaching on the topic. However, there is one aspect of membership that gives me pause for thought, namely "Christian Accountability". Accountability is defined by the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary as " the quality or state of being  accountable ;  an obligation or willingness to accept responsibility or to  account  for one's actions." Truthfully, I wonder if accountability, as defined above, adequately describes...

September was a month of firsts. First bus ride and day of school for little boy. First day of piano lessons for little girl. First substitute teaching call in this school division for Mommy. Thankfully, we all survived our firsts, and excelled as well. It has also been a month of transition. First lunch at home where I was eating without any member of our family present (weird and kind of eerie). First month where I didn't feel compelled -- or the need -- to attend our church's Mom's group (maybe I'll go one day, maybe I won't). First time in a long time where I am reading my Bible in the morning instead of at night (I get up earlier these days to prepare for potential substitute teaching jobs). I am grateful for these firsts. Motherhood is a journey of change, from the initial swelling of our bellies that shields a tiny being inside to letting our children leave the safety of home to be educated by trained professionals. There is an emotional toll to our rol...

I rarely watch the news. I catch up on the world's happenings -- where often the horror is reported -- via Google News. Or the brief blurb before classic rock on our favourite radio station. But very occasionally, at the end of the day, I take in the images of national and global headlines. Yesterday I watched the masses trek across Europe, searching for a safe haven away from war-torn Syria. I witnessed little kids crying as they tried to rub away tear gas sprayed by unrelenting border police. The message? You are not welcome in this country. I choked up as a father and his son fell to the ground after being tripped up by guards. The look of desperation on people's faces was heart breaking. Our country is nearing a Federal Election in October. Many voters are curious how the next Prime Minister will address the Syrian Refugee Crisis. Here is an excerpt from The Globe and Mail : Mr. Mulcair [NDP] and Mr. Trudeau [Liberal] condemn Mr. Harper [Conservative] for lacking...

"Is anything too hard for the Lord?" I have heard this message twice over two days. First, when I read the Jesus Storybook Bible rendition of Mary being visited by the angel Gabriel, when she received the message that she was going to be the mother of the Christ child. Second, as your Daddy read the story of Abraham and Sarah, where Sarah heard the promise of her bearing a son, even though her body was 90 years old. I've been having interesting dreams lately. Some are "teacher dreams" where a class goes completely berserk and I am doing my utmost to control the kids. I chalk this up as normal, as I will be entering the classroom as a substitute teacher in the fall. My worst teaching fears are coming out in my sleep. Other dreams are random events, probably me processing elements of the day. But there is a category of dreams that are vivid. These dreams often require action, either on a creative level or a spiritual level. You kids have been introduced to T...

I sit at a table with a view of the pond. It is still and serene outside. Twilight is settling as faint streaks of pink and purple blend into darker blue. The solar lights start to twinkle amidst the lush garden foliage. The green of the trees is replaced with inky blackness. The time of day is apropos, as I pen this post. The sun is setting on a season in your Grandma and Grandpa’s lives. It is time to move from the homestead to a smaller and more convenient location in the city. This house has been sold in response to the realities of aging. It is a logical and wise decision. Yet, I am sad. More sad than I imagined. I have only known this place for a decade, 10 short years in comparison to almost a lifetime for your Daddy. I was introduced to this place when your Daddy introduced me to his parents, five older sisters, five brother-in-laws, and numerous nieces and nephews. I recall feeling apprehensive. And overwhelmed. Would this “brown” professional woman in her early ...

You become a product of where you live and whom (or what) you love. Yes, nature takes a part in your character development and value placement. But, how you are nurtured, along with the object of your affections, hones who you are. We recently concluded an action packed week with your Mausi*  and her family. The time was sweet and precious. You cousins concocted imaginative adventures. Tummies were fed mostly "Canadian" fare with dollops of ice cream now and then. And us adults played many, many board games while laughing and sharing over chai and chocolate. Your Mausi and her family live in another region of our world, where the climate and food is hot and the culture is more patriarchal than ours. And as I listened to the differences between here and there, and pondered how your Mausi and her family live a life that is quite different than mine, I couldn't help but ask myself, "What 'Western' values are worth holding on to? And what 'Eastern' v...

We are into summer now. Our days are filled with catching up with tasks we've shelved during the year, tending our yard, biking, and swimming lessons. There are some family get-togethers here and there. Plus a balanced dose of literacy, including numeracy, to keep your grade levels up. This is the last summer before both of you enter the world of school. I too will dust off my teaching skills and enter the classroom as a casual substitute teacher. I am looking forward to the change. Yet, I hold my breath during this moment in time, cherishing this stage of full-time homemaking, which will soon be past (for now, anyway). There are still days when I do pause and reflect on whether or not we could have extended this season of preschool parenting. We are a two-kid family, a decision that was not accepted flippantly, but rather with much deliberation and disquietude (especially on my part). In spite of the permanency of our decision, those uncomfortable moments do arise, when the co...

I've wanted to see the movie for quite some time. But the locally owned movie rental store (yes, we still have one) didn't carry it any longer. And we don't subscribe to Netflix. So when we were loaned "The Talented Mr. Ripley" (1999) by a friend, I jumped at the chance to view it. It was thankfully as expected. Fascinating. Intriguing. Disturbing. Some scenes required the "fast forward" button. Other times, you wished to pause the drama to discuss how you could love and hate the main character at the same time. The movie is a psychological thriller, where the main character, Tom Ripley, plots to be become a fake somebody rather than a real nobody. When the real life cast was asked to state the morale of the story, several commented on how we need to find happiness by loving ourselves instead trying to become someone that we are not. While I agree with this morale to a point, I believe there was an element of the movie that was much darker, much sini...

I've entered the play date world. Not the one where I arrange an outing for a Mom and I to visit while our kids play together. But rather the one where a kid randomly shows up at our house and asks, "Can I come over to play?" Or, "Can A. come to my house to play?" Okay, I am a bit of a control freak. I don't think I am as obsessive as the definition of the phrase implies. But I do need a measure of control over aspects of my life and the lives of you children. I don't enjoy just letting people come over "willy-nilly", especially if it happens often. And, it really bothers me when I have no idea if the parent has even allowed their kid to meander over. While I do consider myself a hospitable person who is eager to open our home to others, the introvert side of me cherishes family time without the presence of visitors. As for you visiting your friend's home? I am okay if I know the parents and if a parent is present. If I have no idea who...

One day I would like to preach a sermon for a good thirty minutes. Sadly, I don't have any Bible School training. And I know ever so little about h ermeneutics  or exegesis in comparison to your seminary trained Daddy. Regardless, I'd like to expound a passage of scripture after weeks of study and share what God has placed on my heart for that moment. Today, I can finally allow myself to imagine such an opportunity, as when I was a little girl, I bemoaned my gender because I believed women couldn't preach. My paradigm has shifted now. While I cannot claim to be brilliantly eloquent or profoundly insightful, I still think I have something to offer my listeners if such a privilege was entrusted to me. Maybe one day. One day I would like to write a novel. It isn't a deep passion of mine in comparison with other beloved people in my life. Neither am I gifted in weaving creative tales or spinning fantastic plots. My writing is kind of run-of-the-mill... sort of ordinary...

I take a spade to the front flower bed and dig out the quackgrass that tends to infiltrate the south edge. I firmly push the shiny blade with my foot. I uproot some of the underground rhizomes. I pull and discard plants with my gloved hands. "So, Mommy, can we make a plan about what we will plant this year?" A. asks. "I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to weed," I mutter (Sorry, I was not the most inspirational Mother at that moment). "Can we talk about it anyway?" A. persists. "Sure." "Can we plant peas? I like peas," J. adds. "Yes." "And carrots?" A. asks. "Yes. We'll plant short ones." "How about cucumbers?" A. continues. "Maybe." "Broccoli? I love broccoli!" A. exclaims. "Probably not. Broccoli is hard to grow." You kids continue to dream, imaging the garden we can grow in our limited space. I keep on weeding,...

I searched my archives and found my " Mellow Sunday " post from about six years ago. I laughed out loud (a true LOL) and smiled at how such days are still a reality for me. After an intense week with my children and more responsibilities than usual, I come to this day of rest in a state of exhaustion and discontentment. My motivation is low, as to be expected, and I want to just sleep the day away. Your Daddy is having a nap right now after returning from the Provincial Drama Festival. You kids are observing quiet time while constructing imaginative things with Lego. I am here writing, letting my thoughts run free for a while, as a way to embrace the mellowness of such a day. There are days I wonder if this whole meta-narrative involving a Creator God, a Faithful Son and the Comforting Holy Spirit is one immense delusion. Our pastor just concluded a series on the Book of Revelation. We were reminded to be ready for Christ's second coming. Instead of being hopeful, I w...