The foxhound out on a summer night

 Today I tumbled straight from one job into the next, with only the briefest of pauses for a quick scrambled-egg supper. I stayed typing in my chair while Patrick put each of the kids to bed, filling his evening with pyjamas and cozes and bedtime stories while I listened to councilors debate. So when Eevee stretched out her long paws and put them on the door with a wheedly little whine I said yes, and put my work on hold.

We stepped outside into that backwards time of night that feels dark when you're inside, but light when you're outside. The sky still held a bit of light and it was not too dark, yet, to follow my dog down a woodsy path. Fireflies twinkled madly, and I laughed to myself as I remembered the first time Pascal saw them alight in a field. (He watched the lights appear and disappear, glowing here and glowing there. He clung to my neck for a while, and then asked, in a voice absolutely shattered with shock, how they could teleport.)

Eevee's nose was keeping her busy, whooshing into bushes and snapping into pointer pose, and bats swooped and flapped overhead. Out in the river, a beaver's head appeared and then slipped back down underwater. A frog leaped, plooping into the water. Squirrels chased each other through the trees, and, according to Eevee's constant alerts, bunnies were lurking in almost every shadow.

The world aches and horrifies me far too often.
The news is harsh and people are harsher.

But every now and then, taking a walk can feel like velvet. The evening air tastes sweet, and something flits and flashes through the trees. And every twist of the path is magic.

xo.

First Fireworks After Covid

The eastern sky was a periwinkle blue, then purple, then navy.

In the west, streaks of pink and yellow and faded to grey.

The park air was heavy with the scent of bug spray, but bright with the sound of laughter and shouts of hello. Friends offered welcome, sharing blankets and Off and snacks. Osprey peered nervously down from their perch.

 In small-town style, kids ran and found each other, gleefully hugging friends they hadn't seen in a scant week since school closed for the summer. They played on swings and monkey bars, squealing and shrieking and loving the strange magic of being out late, and being out late with everyone.

It felt like the entire town was there, hunkered down on blankets, relaxed into camp chairs, perched on picnic tables. 

Somebody lit whizz-bangs in the tennis court, an appetizer of delight that set off little waves of glee. "Was that the fireworks?" a high little voice asked, and a chuckle rippled kindly in its wake.

And then the first firework shot into the sky, fizzling and sssh-ing and exploding with a blam.

All eyes were transfixed, as the whole town stared at the lights shimmering and booming and blooming in the sky.

I think the firework technician had the best view. Lights playing and dancing across a thousand uplifted faces; the crowd plunging into darkness and then suddenly alight with awe and joy.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But a park full of people sparkling with wonder? Glory.

breath after breath

My daughter is scared, and so

I am sitting with her as she falls asleep.

I'm hunkered down in a large cardboard box,

Full of stuffies, next to the only accessible plug

With my dying phone.

Her breath is slowing, growing more even; 

Rough still, from a cold this week,

From the coughing reminder that

Every breath is a gift

From the giver of air, and lungs.

Nephesh: the soul, the throat;

The air breathed in and life given.

I place her soul into Your care for the night

For all her nights, for dawns and days 

Breath after breath after breath after breath.

Cover Me in Sunshine

Vava's been listening to Pink's Cover Me in Sunshine a lot lately, and my favourite lyrics go 

"tell me that the world's been spinning

since the beginning

and everything will be alright.

Cover me in sunshine."

This is like the refrain of my heart. 

I am not very good at persistent joy. You know when Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water to Jesus and then realized his surroundings and gasped and sank? Samesies. 

Jesus was right there. Peter had already been walking ON WATER, and not like years ago in faded memory but right now. He was actively in the middle of a miracle.

But the wonder and proof of it wasn't enough to buoy him up in the face of the storm. 

I sit in my home and hear my kids laugh and see the wonder of this life that I asked God for - through many dangers toils and snares I have already come, yes - but then I read the news and I hear rumbles of a recession rolling in and I tremble. He has held me and blessed me through dangers, toils, and snares - but still my foot steps down through the water like it must, it must - look at it, it's water - if the water does not hold me up, will grace still lead me home? 

And my answer must be the same as Peter's, the same as Pink's -

tell me that the world's been spinning since the beginning and everything will be alright - save me, Lord -

I need to know He's got it all in His hands. 

The world. My world. Me. 

Cover me in sunshine.

Glory and Flowers and Joyness

Thank you, God, for glory and flowers and joyness - Pascal, praying before bed. 

Usually he says nothing when I ask if anyone wants to talk to God together. 

That's okay too. But it made me pay attention when he did decide to speak, the little rock.

 I saw God's glory all over the place this week, but didn't stop to think about it until he spoke.

Vava, challenging herself to do a one-handed cartwheel. 

Sam, respectfully voicing his disagreement with someone in power. 

Kachi, so excited about his friend's birthday party he can barely sleep. 

Pascal, so intent on reading a book he didn't notice me calling. 

Eevee, running free with other dogs at the off-leash park. 

A friend's new baby. 

A friend's new business. 

Yeah. Thank you, God, for glory and flowers and joyness.

She, too

Sometimes, sunshine comes tumbling out of the phone

An invitation, a proposal

Of friendship.

Sometimes, love wraps its arms around you

Across miles and borders

From a kindred spirit.

She, too, knows the presence that tugs

And flows like a river

And sings in solitude.

She, too, knows.

 

--

Happy birthday, my friend.

I thank God for you.

for Patrick, Happy Anniversary my love!

An Ode to Your Body

I love your body

Because of those delicious broad shoulders

And my favourite dents

And those long arms that wrap me so close.

The way you laugh, so kindly, when I talk too much

I love the way your eyes seem full of light

And the way they close so quickly into sleep.

But mostly what I love

Is the fact that your body

Keeps going and going

In love for me, for these kids.

To work, of course, and back again

Over and over no matter what you feel like,

To the store, the playground, the beach,

And out of bed and down the stairs when I've forgotten my puffer.

I love those hands that give so generously,

Those legs that welcome my icy toes,

The crinkle lines that capture your laughter 

The grey hair that is just starting to show up, to keep mine company.

The muscles that lift and carry

Boxes of parts and miles of hose

The heart that bears the burden of management

The hands that type succinct, efficient emails

The arms that clear snow and ice off windshields in the dark all winter long.

I love your hands that make our coffee and pick up pizza and pick up a million pairs of abandoned socks off the floor.

I have witnessed your body 

Carrying your laughter and quiet words and kindness

In and out of days for sixteen years

And I love it.

Conversations before bed

 

I just feel like I was made for something amazing

She told me

Eyes a little defensive, cagey.

(It's hard to bare the soul.)

You were, I told her.

I just want to see God

He told me

Eyes, tired, crinkled closed.

(It's hard to bear the soul.)

You will, I told him.

I just want to see you and do something amazing,

I sighed

Sinking into bed.

(It's hard to bear, to bare the soul.)

You have, he told me, you do.

He is not here

The angel spoke to the women: “There is nothing to fear here. I know you’re looking for Jesus, the One they nailed to the cross. He is not here. He was raised, just as he said. Come and look at the place where he was placed.

Matthew 28:5‭-‬6 MSG

Ohhh, doesn't this verse just groan with glory? 

My heart is flooded with the weight of it.

I am sure everyone is tired of hearing me talk about what a weight, what a struggle the past 2 years have been. No kitchen, no kitchen, blah blah blah. Depression, bullying, blah blah blah. Covid, covid, blah blah blah. 

But, tired or not, the truth is: My heart has never been so low, so alone. 

Does God care? Are his ears stopped to my cry? Where is he? I have nothing left.

These words of comfort to grieving women are so gentle, so affirming, radiating hope.

There is nothing to fear here. I know you're looking for Jesus, the One they nailed to be the cross. He is not here.

He is not held by death, and certainly not by this tomb. 

He is not bound by my kitchen, not driven away by my bullying, not silenced by my depression, or rendered powerless by isolation or lockdown. He is not here.

He is raised, just as he said.

He is raised, just as he said.

He is raised, just as he said.

Come and look at the place where he was placed.

The tomb that this year has been? It does not hold him. The tomb of buried hopes and buried hope? It does not hold him. Death and quiet despair? He is not here. Look.

He is not here.

He is not here.

He is raised, just as he said.

Happy Easter, my friends.

xo.

A little dirt couldn't hurt

Sometimes we need a little fun

And sun

And the dog has to run.

Sometimes we take a day off

And scoff

At the clang of the clock.

Sometimes we skip out and shirk

Our work

Cuz a little dirt never hurt.

To do

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13 MSG

I just love this.

It's the answer, isn't it? To all the striving and arguing over what Christianity ought to look like. I think it must make our Father especially weary when we tell each other what to do instead of worrying about the logs in our own eyes first.

Trust steadily in God.

Hope unswervingly.

Love extravagantly.

It's what we can focus on when the world seems entirely upside down. When we're in the middle of a pandemic. When all around us are filled with fear. When the horrors of war rage on. When a contractor rips us off and we live in a construction site for years. When illness settles in. This is our permanent to-do list.

I feel like I'm pretty good at trusting in God. Am determined to love extravagantly. But I struggle to hope unswervingly. 

This is why I need to read other writers, listen to other speakers, talk with my brothers and sisters. What I lack, you kindle in me. Where I falter, you hold me up.

You point me to hope.

To trust.

To love.

And to wake up tomorrow and do it again.

Xo.

Wild Geese that Fly with the Moon on the Wing

Tonight I was walking Eevee and the sky was a delight. Sparkling and flooded with light from a full moon, Orion swathed in a sash of jet smoke, the big dipper scooping up some distant magic.

Wild geese were honking their noisy reunions, wings awhirr as they swooped in to land on the half-melted river. Walking over the bridge, I could see them from above with the moon on the wing, and I felt a little heart leap of understanding just why Maria called it one of her favourite things.

 Just when we had almost reached home, a new sound hit my ears - the silvery trumpet of swans. Eevee and I ran down to the water in hopes of seeing them but they weren't in sight - maybe they had only flown over or maybe they had landed around the bend.

I tried to capture the night with my camera but no luck. It was oxygen just to be out in it, free, with birds coming home at the cusp of spring.