13 Hours of Rain

I join no community. I stand alone. Yet I'm motivated by friends, family, and strangers who urge me to be thankful. Thankful for being surrounded by many gifts. Gifts in many sizes and many colors and many forms. MANY. I must count these gifts to scatter the horde of negative thoughts that threaten to overtake my spirit. Thus, my first entry... My Husband. I strongly believe that God led you to me. I received a prophetic whisper from the Spirit of God: I would hear about you 25 years after I chose to follow Christ. And it happened. Amazing! We are so different from each other in so many ways. Our Myers-Briggs Personalities are complete opposites. :) Yet, many times our differences sharpen our characters and form us into better people. I praise God for our personalities, even during moments when we drive each other crazy! I am thankful that you are a great father to our two children. You love them so much and you spend countless hours with them. You are willi...

I flew with my infant son to visit a friend who has been given a death sentence: terminal lung cancer. As I sat across from her and her husband, I asked, "What is really important in life?" She thought for a moment and then spoke with remarkable calm. What is written below is a summary along with my observations. Don't Sweat the Small Stuff . Stuff doesn't matter. We hyper-focus on the little annoying things in our lives. We waste so much energy on trivial matters. The chip in the windshield. The stain on the table cloth. The ridiculous purple wall in some one's dining room. ;) Follow Your Dreams . Don't live in regret! If you have a big dream in life, fulfill it. Make a plan. Invest some money. And do it. Life is much too short to shelve God-given visions under "someday, maybe". Loyal Friends and Family . "When you are dying, you find out who your friends and family really are," she remarked with a touch of sadness. It is easy for ...

This is most probably IT. Two kids. No more. We discussed this topic while we were dating. We were pretty certain. If God so willed for us to have children, TWO would be our magic number. Why? Many reasons, several of which centered on taking our age, adding twenty or so years, and realizing how old we would be when our last child would graduate. Yet I fear. Both my husband and I come from larger families. We love our siblings. We get along. We actually enjoying being in the same space as each other. We believe in being open and honest with each other. And when disagreements arise, we strive towards healing. In the younger years, we cherished the synergy that was generated by having more than one sibling. Personally, I remember being close to each sibling during different periods of my life. And when one sibling was being incredibly annoying, another sibling provided moral support during those "tragic" days as a child. I could not imagine my life without my siblings. I am...

Years ago, my dad cleared a small patch in a wooded area native to my childhood acerage. To accomplished such a task, he pushed his lawnmower with determination, cutting through weeds, grass, and saplings. A rough cut path emerged. It went past the outhouse, beside the Saskatoon berry bushes, and towards the little clearing surrounded by towering aspen. I loved that place. I remember sitting there as a child. I recall how many of my senses were stimulated. My eyes delighted in the wild flowers that carpeted the ground. My ears were calmed by the gentle sound of the summer breeze as it whispered through the leaves. My nose picked up the fragrant smells of blossoming berry bushes. For a moment, it was me and the elements. Me and my God. I was like any typical kid back then. I had fears. I had worries. I went through phases when I felt that nobody understood me. I felt awkward and ugly at times. And I planned elaborate schemes to run away (of course, I never would carry it out bec...

Supper dishes are washed and put away. The children's eyes close as they drift to sleep. The floors are swept clean. Two cups of tea are brewed and placed on the table. And then we talk. This time it is my Mother and I. My Mother enjoys many types of activities. But I believe one of her favorites is to sit down with a close few and have a leisurely chat. So she begins. Her eyes take on a far-away look and she reminiscences about her childhood days... My Mother's father, or my Nana, was a pastor. He dedicated his life to sharing the Good News of Christ's birth, life, death, and resurrection. He was passionate about what he believed and he was not ashamed to be called a Christian, even in the face of persecution. He was an intentional man, a man who embraced his life of ministry with zeal. Thus, Christmas was time to reach out and celebrate the coming of the Saviour in the package of a baby. Celebrations began in early December. All the pastor's children excitedly vis...

My husband claims that he is a Post-Evangelical Neo-Anabaptist . He came up with this denominational category during his University days. At the Catholic Outreach booth, he filled a survey to get a free New Testament. He was asked to classify his Christianity. Since none of the options sufficed, he created a new version under "Other". Not wanting to be part of the negative stigma created by many Evangelicals, yet still desiring to adhere to his Anabaptist leanings, he added "Post" and "Neo" to existing types. Very creative! What denomination am I? Good question. Some days I am not sure because I have been exposed to many varieties under the Evangelical umbrella. In the theme of Brain McLaren's Generous Orthodoxy (A book I still mean to read someday), I compose this post. I am Brethren . I believe in the priesthood of believers and sometimes wonder if a pastor is even necessary. After all, if we all used our God given talents appropriately, there w...

The doorbell rang. I opened the door. It was one of the cabinet makers that I had asked to provide an estimate to rebuilt our kitchen. With a thank you, I took the paper and ran up the stairs. My heart raced as I skimmed through the details we had discussed earlier. Then I reached the bottom of the sheet. The price. I caught my breath. My dreams of a remodelled kitchen sank like the Titanic. "We can't afford this," I whispered under my breath as my little toddler danced around my feet. I walked back to the kitchen and scrutinized it for the millionth time. Dark wood. Scuff marks. Cracked back splash. Chipped counter top. Scratched sink. My brand new white appliances seemed ridiculously out of place. "Oh, yes, we could take out a fantastic loan equivalent to a brand new domestic car and wallow in debt for awhile. And true, we were willing to increase our mortgage by about 3.5%, if need be. But this number, THIS NUMBER is too much," I protested. Ugh. A bla...