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.

cold-sick

it's been a weird week.  we're all under the weather with an unpleasant cold.  it was sam's birthday yesterday, and i'm terribly afraid we didn't make it special.  (not that he'll remember.  don't tell him.)

tonight i'm helping patrick lay floor in our new laundry/bath room.  we're blowing our noses and coughing and trying to stay up for just one. more. tile.

the weird thing?

it's totally fun.  i love my husband.  even sick, in the basement, laying flooring ... we're having the best time.

xo.

TWO!

dear sam.  darling boy.
today, you are two!
 
i can't quite believe it.  wasn't it just a few short months ago we met for the first time?  you were so small - and strong, from the first minute, lifting yourself and the doctor's eyebrows all at once.

this is what you're like today ...
you wake up enthusiastic to get out of your crib.  (yes, you're still in the crib.  we tried to switch - but you really weren't a big fan of your toddler bed.  but that's another story.)  first, you want to say hi to baby vava (you call her vava now!  when she was newborn, you called her aggie, then awwa, and now vava - well done, son!) and you smother her with hugs and kisses.  she loves it.
then you ask for papa.  if it's the weekend, you run to him for hugs and a wrestle.  if it's a weekday, i tell you papa is at work, taking care of us - and you clap and say "yay!"  you're so proud of him.  and he's so proud of you.

at least once a day, we talk about how incredible you are.  the things you can do totally astonish us.

i don't think i kicked a ball until i was told to in gym class.
you set up training drills for yourself and practice skills.  i don't even know how you know about these!
yesterday, for example, you put your soccer ball in the middle of the hallway.  you backed up to the end, then ran at the ball and kicked it, trying to keep it beside you until you came to the wall.  then you set it up again and repeated. 
yes.  you're awesome.

you love to talk on the phone, but you don't say much.  you just hold the phone and grin and sometimes try to share your snack or kisses with whoever is on the line.

you can climb up into your highchair all by yourself.  (and oh, the proud smile you give us every time!)  you're just figuring out how to play the harmonica, but you've already mastered the recorder - that one shrill note, anyway.  you like to play the triangle, you dear thing, and of course you love the drums best of all.

more than anything, though, you love cars.  the toys.  the movies.  stickers.  but you freaked out the other day when i put a mater tattoo on your hand (you asked for it - i didn't think you'd like it, but we tried anyway).  and you love crashes.  you watch russian dash-cam crash videos on youtube, and you copy the crashes with your toy cars.

i hope you grow up to be an insanely safe driver.

every night before bed, papa reads to you from the Jesus storybook bible.  you love it.  especially the giant.  you open to the goliath page and laugh a big mean laugh "HA HA HA!"  it's so funny and dear.

you like to blow cheerios across your highchair tray.  strawberries are your favourite food, and you also love grapes and cheese-cars, and sausages dipped in mustard.  and pad thai - last week, you ate four bowls of pad thai for supper!  you refuse milk, accept water, and love juice.

you love helping mama with the dishes.  mostly, you play with the rinse-water, but yesterday you did the cutest thing.  you picked up a clean bottle, filled it from the tap, and ran to papa to give him a drink.  you did this over and over again until the dishes were all done and mama made you stop.

you call yourself 'you', and, if pressed, say that your name is 'sin.' hehe. you're usually quick to say thank you and please, and lately you've even adopted the adorable "weppum!" (you're welcome) into your frequent phrases.

i pray that you will always be as loving and thankful and energetic as you are today.  i pray that God will help us to guide your energy and treasure your love every day.  i pray that your loving birth parents will be glad to see you grow into the dear boy you are becoming.  we all love you, sam.

happy birthday!

little sweet

this morning, vava woke up at 6, just when i was getting ready to go to the gym.  i started to feed her, and then my dear darling took over caring for her so i could still go.  yay!

when i came home, i discovered he had tucked her into our bed while he went to the washroom.  (her bed is in sam's room, and once we successfully get her out of there without waking him up, we don't risk putting her back in ;))  i tiptoed in to see her, and she opened those gorgeous eyes halfway and smiled sleepily at me.  i snuggled in beside her and put my arm around her.  she reached out and patted my arm, then sighed a sweet little sigh and fell asleep.  perhaps the dearest morning ever!

fire and ice

the other night, a few blocks away, a house burned down.  patrick and i drove past it yesterday and just stared in awe at the creepiness ... only half of it was left standing, charred brick and no roof at all.  the firefighters must have battled strong, because huge torrents of water were gushing from every window and crevice, frozen mid-tumble.

my mother-in-law and i decided to take a walk tonight to go see it - just a quick walk before bed.

it wasn't even midnight yet.

we hadn't even gone five blocks.

we walked past two prostitutes.  young.  pretty.

my heart hurt hard, my stomach churned sick.  as we walked past the second girl, she was approached by an older man.

i might have been wrong.  it might have just been two neighbours stopping to chat about the weather or share cigarettes.

but i don't think so.

i feel angry and immobile, like that horror-house.  flames of anger against society and poverty and addiction and that man. but frozen with uncertainty - and even, yes, fear.  but can i help?  how?

part of me wants to adopt a walking habit - get a friend to join me, walk a circuit around my neighbourhood a few times every night, get to know the girls who stand on the street corners.  maybe bring them hot chocolate in travel mugs, even just stop to say hi, just be a person who cares.

but the other part of me shrinks in fear. i don't know how to deal with the lifetime of hurt or oppression that leaves a girl out on a sidewalk.  i don't know how to help that kind of problem.

but it's not a problem, God says.  it's a person.  she's a person.  you don't 'deal with' her.  you love her.

Is not this the fast that I choose:

    to loose the bonds of wickedness,

    to undo the straps of the yoke,

to let the oppressed go free,

    and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry

    and bring the homeless poor into your house;

when you see the naked, to cover him,

    and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?  

(Isaiah 58:6-7)

pouring out

i was thinking about fasting last week, fasting God's fast - a fast of goodness, of pouring out, a blessing, a joy.

and Jesus was always pouring Himself out.  for people in need - hungry, blind, sick, sin-soaked.  He met everyone where they were, in their need, and poured Himself out for them. 

so i gave up snacking for lent.  not an onerous fast, i thought, but one that i can do.  i can give this sacrifice, this little pouring out.  and of course, God's fasting is one that blesses others, so to make my fast His, i decided to pray for my sunday school girls every time i wanted to but didn't reach for a snack.

let there be no doubt: there has been lots of praying.  (i was actually really surprised by how frequently i swing the cupboard doors open, browse through the fridge, absent-mindedly reach out to nibble from sam's tray.)

on thursday, we had friends over for a birthday party in the evening.  i made that snack my supper, and so the gap from lunchtime to party time was longer than usual.  i was so tempted to eat, especially when i was preparing supper for everyone else, and making the party treats on top of that.  but i wanted to truly pour out - pour out.  so i prayed, and prayed again, for my sunday school class, and for others too.  

this verse of poetry was weaving through my thoughts -

measure thy life by loss and not by gain; 

not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth. 

for love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice, 

and he that suffereth most hath most to give.

-hugo bassi

so today, thinking about that phrase the wine poured forth, i turned to john 2 to read about Jesus' first recorded miracle.  it's always struck me as such a funny one to include - but today i got it.

it's a picture of him.  he was telling his own story in his own medium - miracles.

there are these pots - six big stone pots, ready to be filled with water for purification.  and Jesus tells the servants to fill them with water.  like they do every day. this ordinary rite, this ordinary task, this ordinary life.

but when it was poured out, it was no longer water.
poured out.

Jesus was poured out for us.  not merely a humble carpenter's son, no; his earthen vessel contained heaven's glory.  his pouring out for our joy.  his pouring out of himself, sweet blessing and sacrifice.

the wine was poured out at a wedding - a marriage feast.  for love.
he poured his life out in love.  crazy, hungry, absolute love.

measure thy life by loss and not by gain; 

not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth. 

for love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice, 

and he that suffereth most hath most to give.

Jesus' life was this fast that He chose - this fast of pouring out, this fast of blessing and love and joy.

oh, i'm so glad i worship this God!

my own flesh

i'm studying fasting this week, inspired by lent (although lent-fasting isn't something i've done).  it's been a while since i fasted as a regular practice, and i am hungry to remind myself of it, that discipline of joy and submission of heart.

isaiah 58:6-7 is God's impassioned question to us on the subject.

 

Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of wickedness,
    to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free, 

and to break every yoke? 

 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
    and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

the part that slices into me from these verses is that last phrase - your own flesh.  

we think of it as the direct genetic tie, don't we?  sam is my son, adopted, and vava is my daughter, biologically - my own flesh.

but God carries it differently.

all of humanity - your own flesh.

and it's easy and instinctive, ever since that first hiding in the garden, to hide ourselves. 

i find myself walking past homeless people, hiding my eyes, in spite of this verse and this Saviour who feeds the hungry and says 'do likewise.'  i tell myself they don't want me to see their shame but there is no shame in needing - the only shame is mine for choosing eyes that will not see and ears that will not hear and a heart that will not love my own flesh.

God's fasting isn't a meagre thing of self-denial and subsequent pride.  no - Jesus mocked that kind of fasting.

His fasting is a pouring-out, a self-denial in order to bless, a fasting that holds fast to our own flesh.  it's the kind of fasting that ties together the hungry and the full, that gathers the homeless around a table, wraps warm around those who shiver from the cold and cold shoulders.

it's a fasting that reaches out, that whispers "my own flesh" to the stranger and passes him my own full plate.  a fast that has nothing at all to do with shame or pride, a fast that has everything to do with love.

is not this the fast that i choose?

sheldon win

yesterday we were eating supper with the kids and sheldon, and one of his friends came to the door.  we invited him in to join us, and he looked a little hesitant before he said "our friend's outside."  we invited him in too, and they both sat down to supper.

they were really nice - both of them chattier than sheldon, not that that's saying much - and we had fun getting to know them.  one of them had stayed for supper before, but the other we hadn't met.  

later, we were getting an impromptu dessert from the kitchen when i overheard the low conversation in the dining room.

"you're lucky, man," one friend said, "this is a really open home."

"yeah, it was so nice of them to invite us for supper.  it's not like that where i stay."

"yeah, i guess so."  (coming from our close-lipped sheldon, high praise indeed!  we keep looking for ways to show him we love him but his responses are few ... so this was pretty special.)

and a few minutes later the conversation switched to a topic that made me so grateful that God placed sheldon in our home.

'i heard your dad was in town and didn't even tell you, shelly,' his friend said.

'yeah.  my cousin told me.'

'you're the only one who calls him dad now, eh?'

'me and my sister.  'cause we weren't there when he walked out.'

!

beyond the fact that i was thrilled over his opening up - this was the first personal stuff he'd shared with us - my heart hurt so much at the thought of sheldon growing up with (out) a dad who would walk out on his wife 6 kids.

there is no better dad in the world than patrick.  he adores sam and vava with his whole heart, and serves and loves them joyfully and sacrificially.  every night, he comes home and spends every moment playing with and caring for them until bedtime.  he crashes cars with sam and snuggles vava.  he prompts sam to remember his manners and gives him a bath.  he reads them bible stories and sings and prays for them before tucking them in.  and then together we put the shambled house back in order :).

so maybe, in a little way, sheldon is getting familiar with the rhythm of a family that beats with a strong father-heart, and his own fathering someday might reflect that.

he couldn't have been placed with a better example.

determination

whew.
just watched here comes the boom.

movies like that - where people really put their guts into something they believe in, strive against obstacles, and persist in a glorious montage with a triumphant soundtrack - make me so hungry to do something big.

but in this movie, the main character didn't set out to do something big.  just something ordinary.  and he decided not to give up.  he kept going.  with

determination.
focus.
persistence.
presence.

all these feisty qualities that i don't think i've ever embodied.

sam - my spunky, adorable, strong son - has them in spades.  and every day he practices them.

and i have this friend - i'm completely jealous of her life.  not because she's got fabulous good looks, a wonderful family, and a super-cool job - but because she seems to have this focus and drive and intensity of spirit (and Spirit) that i'm hungry for.

i think it's time for a determination boot camp.
this week i'm giving myself some goals.
and i'm going to practice living with a little determination and a lot of persistence and focus and presence.

i'm tired of the mindless shilly-shallying i've sunk into.

(and this is a good week to practice, because my parents-in-law are coming to help us renovate our basement, and there's a lot to be done before they get here.)

this week i'm going to kill the disorganization in this house.

concrete goals, before thursday:
-kitchen cupboards, sorted and reorganized completely
-sam and vava's closet, sorted and reorganized completely
-broken vanity drawer, emptied and readied for removal
-no facebook before 8pm
-going to the gym at least 3 mornings
-putting word stickers up in sam's room and living room
-hang africa pictures
-sort random basement things onto shelves in back room

well.  that's my challenge to me.
here comes the boom!

ps - if anyone has a great cleaning song/soundtrack, email me your suggestions at janellevivian@gmail.com ... i'll be working on my montage ;)