balloon

you precious amalgamation

precariously knit

shreds of skin and bone

you hum with life

shot-through with veins of red and blue

how vibrant and vivid and impossible you are.

i want to wrap you up inside my jacket

and keep you there, a joey.

instead, i let the long string unfurl

you tug and arc and pull

higher in the wind 

and the beckoning blue sky

i can't

i must

you grow

i cry

good

bye

my

d

   a

    r

       l

            i

                 n

                      g

they forgot me (shereadstruth)

SheReadsTruth challenged us to read the book of hosea with our eyes open for God's heart.  

the more i read it with that filter on my mind, the more surprised i am.  13:6 in particular took my breath away - because He's hurt!  can God be ... hurt?  i never thought about it like that before.  but He can.  He is. 

check this out:

"... they were filled, and their heart was lifted up; therefore they forgot me."  isn't it strange?  there's almost a note of something forlorn there at the end.  "they forgot me."  the sort of thing a fifth child might say after being abandoned at pizza hut ;).

but hosea provided for his wife - everything she needed.  and when she had her fill of grain and gold, she forgot him completely.  she was busy with her lovers - what did she need her husband for?   everything - her food, her clothes, her jewels - passed through her hands, and she didn't stop to think "this came from my husband!"  or even "thanks, hosea."  just - nothing.  she forgot him.



and he didn't quit.  he kept on trying to get her back.  he kept pursuing her.  gently.  fiercely.  in love.



God is the same way!



everything i have and enjoy - the very breath in my lungs, the heart beating in my chest - is a gift from Him.  my kids.  my husband.  food.  shelter.  joy.  friendship.  sunshine.  and instead of turning to him in thanks and delight, i treat these things as if they've always been mine. 



and i'm ashamed to admit that i'm worse than petulant if i find myself without something i think i ought to have.



but still He loves me.  clearly, not because of good in me (i'm gomer!), but because of His joyful, generous, blessed, loving, committed heart.



i think that's what gets me at baptisms and weddings.  there's this moment when two declare "we are one.  we bind ourselves to each other!" and it's for better or worse, for always.  i cry like a teenage girl.  because i know there isn't any one of us who deserve that kind of commitment from Him.  but He gives it anyway.



"they forgot me."



you know in gone with the wind, how scarlett is always pining after ashley, even though rhett is the one taking care of her?  and the whole frustrating awfulness is that anyone can see scarlett isn't worth rhett's effort, but he still tries and tries and tries, even though she's selfish and vain.  and then in the end, she realizes what she has in rhett, and the weight of his love overwhelms her - but she's too late.  she's too late.  she rushes to him and confesses her love, but his heart has been broken by her faithlessness, and there's nothing left in it for her.



i keep expecting God to be like rhett, and to just wash his hands of his faithless, selfish, idolatrous people.



wouldn't you?



but He doesn't.  bless Him.  He doesn't!  He still loves.  it still hurts him to be forgotten. 



there's so much more.  He doesn't stand idly by and let his people wallow in their sin.  He roars and fights and conquers.  but that little verse just stuck with me - that cry of  His hurting heart.

street sweet

couldn't go to bed without popping online and telling you about our night!  we went out for a walk, and the street looked empty.  we didn't see anyone the whole length of the street.  but we started out anyway.

when we got to the second-last block, two girls came around the corner and started walking up the street.  when they passed us, we said hi - they said hi back - and then smiled all recognize-y and said "sup?"  :D 
and on our way back, we passed them at their usual post, and stopped for a quick chat.  they asked if we were sisters :)  we told them we get that a lot.

oh, i'm so glad they were comfortable chatting with us!  i just want to be friends.
and i feel like they feel like they know us - at least, we're familiar -
and they like us!
and i think they get that we like them too.

God bless you, girls! 

not the answer / the answer

First, check out this article.

Reading it, I was appalled at the solutions proposed.
Money is not the answer!
Yes, it's part of the answer.
Counselling is part of the answer.
Clean drinking water must certainly be part of the answer.
But none of these are the answer.

Like any sunday-school jerk, I know the right answer.
Always, always, the right answer is Jesus.

But not in a platitudinous here-eat-my-religion way.
In a real-live heart-and-hands sort of way.  Jesus.

Jesus, who left his glory and beauty and radiance and came to sin-soaked planet earth to rescue all of us who don't even know how to cry out for help.

Jesus, who reached out his own hands to touch everyone who came to him in need, to heal them and forgive them and bless them.

Jesus, who was accused of eating with sinners.  (Thank God!  He pressed that accusation to his heart as a badge of joy.  Eat with sinners?  He did, and does, and will forever.)

Jesus, who came and put flesh and bones on theology and stood on this ground with those beautiful feet.

His hands?  His feet?
That's what we're called to be, right?

I think communities like this need Jesus.  In the forgiven, grateful flesh of the church.  And He tells us to, doesn't he - the challenge rings out in Matthew 25:31-40 -

 (v40) Truly, I say to you, as much as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.

I think, christians, we need to stop playing church.  Take the money set aside for the next sunday-school barbecue and send a willing person - family - group to live in Neskantaga.  To live and help and listen and care and eat and drink and bless and worship there, in Jesus' name.

No amount of mental-health counselling is going to fill the kind of gaps in a woman that committed love can fill.  No amount of emergency-response-coordinating will take a despairing addict and give him a reason to live.  No Health Canada response will heal a community where 10% of the population attempts suicide in a month.

Oh Jesus-people.  We need to have fewer words of excuse and be filled with the Word of life.  We need less bread in our grocery cart and more Living Bread in our actions. 

Pray for Casey Moonias.  Pray for Neskantaga.  Pray for our own couch-potato Christianity and the courage to say yes.

In Jesus' name.

so will I (shereadstruth)

if anyone had a right to revenge, hosea did.  he poured his love out for his wife, who flouted it and walked away from him. 
then he blessed her with gifts and provisions and kept loving her.
and she turned her back on him again, and went out with her lovers.
and still ... he bought her back again.  re-purchased the wife who had married him and gone away.  he set his love on her.  deliberate.  determined.  intentional.  love.

we wouldn't blame him, would we, for turning his back on her - even if she repented, and came home humbly to love him - we wouldn't really blame him if he was gone, looking for love anywhere else.

but ... he didn't. God swears to his own hurt and does not change (psalm 15:4).

he bought her and brought her home and told her to be his only - and promised he would be hers.  he told her to be true to him, and "so will I also be to you."  (hosea 3:3)

it aches, that kind of love.  the love that deliberately binds itself to the unlovely.  the love that says to a faithless one: i choose you.  i choose you and i will see loveliness in you.  i set my love upon you.  and i will show you what love is really like.  faithful.  pursuing.  persistent.  generous.  righteous.  permanent.

this gift God gave hosea: the gift of being acquainted with His Own Heart from the inside out -

it pierces right through.

thankful (shereadstruth)

last year, i read through the bible in a year.  three chapters daily, and five on sundays.  (well, sundays are busy, so it usually ended up being eight on mondays.  but i digress.)

this year, i wanted something different, so i started out studying a different topic of my choice every week.  i hoped to have 50 little mini-studies completed by the end of the year.

well, without a definite plan (ha, maybe i should have planned my topics in advance?), i kind of got derailed, and just found myself poking around without a lot of direction.

a friend of mine recommended SheReadsTruth - an online community of women all reading the same passages on the same day.  and i love it!  i read my passage alone, offline, and think on it.  pray over it.  and then pop online to read the blogpost and comments that other women have shared. 

so. much. fun.

and challenging.  and interesting.

today we read in hosea 2.

the part that stood out the most to me was that gomer (hosea's unfaithful wife) looked around at the good things surrounding her, and attributed them to her lovers.  she never even thought about hosea, and that all the blessings she enjoyed are proof of his love.  in spite of her faithlessness, he showed faithful care and provision for her.  reading it, my heart hurt for him.

and then, of course, i realized the point ...

God gives me all good things.  and i look around and revel in them, and so rarely remember to thank Him!  i eat and drink and listen to music and walk in the sunshine and rejoice in the presence of my friends ... and so infrequently turn my face God-ward to say thank you.

thank you for chalk and wobbly toddler hopscotch.
thank you for bright blue eyes under a too-big hat.
thank you for three happy smiles devouring dill pickles.
thank you for guava juice and a heart full of longing.
thank you for patches of grass appearing outside.
thank you for sunshine.
thank you for music drifting outside from a tinny radio.
thank you for phone calls from my mama.
thank you for emails from patrick.
thank you for two babies sleeping at the same time (!!!).
thank you for your golden presence in a quiet moment.


thank you for the grain, the wine, the oil, the silver and gold ...

streetwalking

this post is so overdue!  thanks for your interest - prayers - patience!

i've been out a few more times, once alone (in the early evening - not too scary), and the other times with a kind and compassionate friend.

i've been trying to find the right words and usually by the time the kids are in bed and i sit down to write this, the weight of it just wears me down and i can't find the energy to write.

but this is what's new:

there are a few girls who regularly stand on the street.  i always say hi when i pass them, and they usually say hi in return - though they're almost always absorbed in their phones.

last week, a different girl - woman, i guess, at least, i'd guess she's older than i am - was out, and she was walking down the street grumbling out loud to herself about something.  i asked if she was okay.  she said yes, thanks for asking, and kept going, so we walked on.  then from about half a block away, she turned and yelled, i really mean it! normally i'd tell people to @#$%, but you seem genuine!
so i'm taking that as a little step in the right direction :).

later, as we walked by her again, one of the smaller girls called from another section of the street and warned her that people in a red van were driving by and throwing things at them. 

it made me so sad. and angry.  like their lives need any more garbage. 

anyway.

the night i went out alone was also illuminating. 

it was freezing cold, and patrick had been out running errands.  he got home before sunset, and told me the girls were already out.  i knew i didn't have a walking buddy, so i decided to go then, alone, before it got quite dark.  i took my phone just in case anything happened.

well, as it happened, there weren't any girls out by the time i got there.  i don't know if they decided it was too cold, or if they all got picked up.  there's usually 3 on any given night, in the same-ish spots.  so i walked to the end of the street and turned around to come home. 

i was walking along where one of the girls usually stands, and a black truck drove by, slow, with the driver's window all the way down.  brrr, i think, that guy's nuts!  but he had a red plaid jacket on, a lumberjack jacket i guess - and he nodded.

the hooker-street is in my neighbourhood, one block away from the main drag where they all used to stand - there used to be a lot of bars and things there.  anyway, the city focused on cleaning up that street - the bars closed, and there isn't any prostitution to be seen.  i don't know where people get drunk now, but the hookers just moved one street further in.  it's weird though, with houses and kids and blocks and hookers so close together - i guess i wouldn't be surprised to see prostitutes in a bar district, but it's pretty disconcerting to see them on a residential street, standing every few blocks, leaning up against church walls and wooden fences.

so i'm about to cross a side-street when the black truck turns in front of me and pulls over in the side street.  weird, i think, he's circling - he must be lost.

and then it hits me.  he really is lost.

he was hoping to pick me up.

i know it's naive of me not to have thought of that right away, but i guess i never imagined anyone would mistake me for a hooker. 

i walk on, assuming he'll figure it out.  it's a public street after all - and people walk up and down it all the time.

but he circles again, and pulls in front of me at the next crosswalk.

and the next.

by this time i'm getting a little bit uncomfortable, and i definitely don't want him to follow me home and find out where i live.  just because it's weird.  i assume he's a john, and that's not really a big deal, but the worrisome part is that he could be a pimp - and they're scary.

so i call patrick and chat with him.  the truck slows to a crawl while i walk under a tree, and i hurry up - thankful to see a group of people and a convenience store at the end of the street - not too far ahead. 

anyway, long story, he finally stopped circling when i went into the store. 

but it made me realize how scary - and awful - and horrid it must be to willingly go out there and get in vehicles with complete strangers - and that's just the  beginning.

i can't imagine the type of motivation - fear? poverty? drugs? - that drives someone to do that.

my heart breaks for them.

so if you're saying some prayers tonight, say some for the hookers.  and the johns.  and the pimps.  and us, too ...

we all need Jesus.

xo.

a good, good day

patrick & i recently went through some of sam's early photos.  in between being struck by his ridiculous cuteness and his gigantic birthmark (which has almost gone away already!), i found myself bewildered to notice that 12-month-sam was a truly happy kid - pleasant to be around and filled with joy.  24-month-sam just ... isn't.  he's sweet, and dear, and we have a lot of fun - but it's like he's been kind of ... frayed.  he whines.  he shrieks.  he sulks.  what happened?
i know, i know.  the terrible twos.
but i also know there's been a change in my parenting since - well, since he's not a baby anymore.  i feel like i got into a great groove with him in infancy, but this whole big-kid thing staggers me.
i cried when i told patrick last night, and we prayed that God would help us to parent sam wisely, positively.  he deserves better.  God gave him to us, and i want to be like the good steward who multiplies the trust he was given.
in the middle of the night, growth-spurt-vava woke up for a bottle (she doesn't normally).  i was planning to just snuggle up with her on the couch and feed her while drifting in and out of consciousness.  but last night i heard a still small voice.
'go read that book.  right now.  just do it.'
so i pulled toddlerwise down off the shelf.  i bought it way back when sam was just turning 1.  i'd started to read it, but it wasn't applicable at the time, so i just shelved it partway through.  my bookmark was still in it.
i opened where i'd left off, and read one chapter.
it was the schedule-chapter.  i'd forgotten about that - when sam was a baby, we had a pretty decent, predictable schedule through the day. we rolled from one activity to the next, with lots of care given to his eating and sleeping times, outdoor time, playtime with mama, and playtime alone ...
as he got out of the multiple-naps phase, i guess i got out of the schedule phase.  i still made sure he ate well and regularly, and his sleeping routine was firmly in place - but the rest of the day just kind of happened.  whatever.
the thought of trying to stick to a schedule with two kids seemed kind of overwhelming - but when i read their description of an unscheduled-mom, i started to cry again.  that was me.  always running, never getting anywhere.  lost in a messy house, cranky kids, buried under a landslide of exhaustion.  not enjoying her kids at all.
i kind of laughed at their contrasting description of the peace-filled, in-control mom who had a schedule.  happy.  productive.  enjoying her toddlers.  ha!
but ... it sounded really nice.
so i got out my coloured sharpies and made a schedule.  plotted out the day in half-hour blocks.  stuck it on the fridge with sam's letter magnets, and carried vava upstairs to bed.
it took me a little while to fall back asleep.  i was kind of excited.
we followed the schedule today - along with a few other tips they'd slipped into the chapter - and it was like i was in a different house.
sam was happy.  really happy. 
and helpful.  and funny.  (i changed vava's bum, and usually he loves putting things in the garbage can, so i held out the diaper and asked him to throw it out.  he considered it with a grown-up, calculating look, then said "um, no. yuck.")
and when patrick came home, we actually were like that schedule-mom in the book.
the house was clean.  the kids were happy.  i was happy, and - most shocking of all - not exhaustedly counting the seconds til bedtime.  supper was humming away on the stove, and the table was set.  and it wasn't just a show we'd pulled off for patrick, either - it had been like this all day.
it was an awesome evening.  after bathtime, sam zoomed downstairs, grabbed monkey - and headed up to bed, completely unprompted.
yes.
my little fighter.
my zany monkey-man.
went up the stairs to bed without being told.
i got down on my knees and thanked God.  i feel like our family did a 180.
and after sam was kissed and prayed with and sung to and kissed again, i came downstairs to tackle the hurricane-mess in kitchen and livingroom ... and there was none.
oh yes.  cleaning up as we go was built into the schedule.
this rocks.
i'm so grateful.
 

i really really really want to bring my kids up happily, gladly, full-heartedly.

today was a good, good day.

easter eggs

i love mini eggs. they're one of my favourite signs of spring.  once that pretty blue bag shows up on the grocery store shelves, i know the snow will soon begin to lessen and temperatures will rise.

and until then, the last ugly weeks of winter will be sweetened.  mmm.  mini eggs.

one of my friends asked something like this last year.

"what's up with easter eggs?  what does chocolate have to do with the death of Jesus anyway?"

good question.  why do we celebrate easter - that bloody, awful weekend - by sending kids out into the yard, eager and hopeful to find ... eggs?

i remember being a little kid, playing outside in the sodden ugly brown of canadian springtime.  wet grass sucking at my rubber boots.  the sky overcast.  hands, free from a winter of wet mittens, red and chappy.  nose running.  cats stalking low under bare shrubs.  friends playing nearby, in that alone-together way kids have. 

when i suddenly found myself standing quite still. 

there, at my feet, half-hidden in the rotten twigs and sopping squelch of melting snow, a robin's egg - blue as the sky on the last day of school, and more delicate than my grandmother's crochet quilt.

one half a perfect cup, the other half in chips and shards. 

i thrilled with the excitement of it.
a bird was here.
new to life, and not eaten or crushed or frozen to death.
here - flying around somewhere, maybe chirping or swallowing worms - a brand new bird, just like that.  alive.

the sheer magic of it.  life.

and that - of course - is the great story of easter, the thrilling unreasonable truth of it.  early one morning, women went walking, carrying spices to wrap Jesus' dead body.  expecting to argue with guards to open the tomb, expecting the dank ugly underground to be heavy with inevitability, expecting their hearts to sink even lower.

but they did not find death.
they did not find death.
they found no guards, no seal -

they found the empty tomb.
an eggshell, burst wide gorgeous open and Jesus is alive. 
hope like a trembling new robin beating in their breasts, sky bluer than that sweet blue, delight richer than a creme-egg ...

alive.

and that is the good news that easter eggs carry. 

this is it!

potty training, we are tackling you.
without fear, without diapers.
armed with a dozen pair of underpants
two mattress pads
and a whole lot of hope.

three happinesses

yesterday bloomed with three happinesses - maybe the sweetest little joys i've known in a very long time.

one:
i was making supper, and sam brought his chair over to see what i was doing.  when he climbed up beside me, he put his arms up, so i picked him up to show him the tomato sauce i was scooping onto the peppers.  he put his hands on my face and smiled big into my eyes, so i took him to the table to sit and talk for a minute.  he played with my hair - pulling it in front of my eyes, then finding me again - and laughed so happy and glad.  he was so gentle and content to sit still - a rare and delicious thing for sam!

two:
supper was cooking away in the oven, and i was feeding vava.  sam climbed up on my knee, pointed with delight at the kitchen, and said "hot!"  yes - the stove is hot, because mama is making supper.  a big, satisfied grin spread across his face.  "papa!" he laughed.  yes, dear boy.  supper means papa, and papa means all sorts of awesomeness. 

three:
the evening was bursting with sun and blue-sky, so we went for a walk.  patrick pushed the stroller along the not-so-cooperative snowy sidewalks, and i carried vava snuggled in her snowsuit and sling.  on the way home, she fell asleep against me, her cheek on my shoulder, one hand on my chest and the other snuggled up between us.  the precious weight of her, all trusting and asleep, was too dear to bear.

and now i'm sitting here writing this, and vava is laughing with a growly giggle and i can't stop thinking about something one of my friends wrote yesterday -
this life is good, and i don't want to waste a minute.

xo.

love puts on its boots

a friend came with me and we went for a walk in our neighbourhood tonight.

walked past you and and said hello.

twice, with eyes wide open and hearts praying heavy.

we see you, sister.  we care for you.  trite?  maybe.  but true.

i wonder about the people who live right there, an armspan away from the trampled-snow sidewalk.  do they close their eyes?  look away as they walk past you into their warm homes?  do they write to their city councilperson and complain about 'nuisance prostitution'? (yes - an actual phrase from an article i read, here in the city.  augh.)

i wonder why they haven't stepped out to say hello.  to introduce themselves.  to invite you to dinner. 

or maybe they have.  but you're still out in the cold.  walking your street.

you aren't in front of my house, but you're just around the corner.  and i see you with your skinny jeans and cigarettes night after cold night.

so i'm walking your street - my street - our street too.
because love doesn't just see and go inside to sit in comfort and close the heart's door.

love puts on its boots and goes walking.