navy lines background
Monday, January 16, 2023
Inextricable
Tuesday, January 10, 2023
On Pressing Snooze (or, Why I am Late)
Monday, January 2, 2023
Like Plants
Saturday, December 24, 2022
Bless the world on Christmas night
Hope was born one wild night
Beneath a star and angel-light
He stretched and shivered with delight
And darker forces flexed their might.
His mother wrapped him warm and tight
And shepherds worshiped at the sight.
On being here, he'd set his sight
He'd planned and dreamed about this night
When he'd be held, and holding tight
Heaven's gift by candlelight
Awash in pain, with human might
But forward-looking with delight.
The prophets hailed him with delight
And wept and sang out at the sight;
The wise men spoke of Herod's might
Angels warned his dad by night
They fled to Egypt, traveling light,
And his mother held him tight.
He kept his secret sealed up tight
Until his mother in delight
Brought his holy gift to light
Water to wine, with none in sight
How many lips drank deep that night
A cup of bliss, and well they might!
Pharisees fought with all their might
Gatekeepers tried to hold on tight
But the day star dawned, goodbye good night
From tears came joy, from sorrow, delight
The mourners cheered, the blind found sight
And Jesus said, Follow - his yoke is light.
So every year we string up lights
And give - and give - in case we might
Turn back the dark, and offer sight
And hold our loves, like Mary, tight,
And lift a cup that cheers, delights -
And bless the world on Christmas night.
If your hopes are out of sight, hold tight -
He came that we might know delight;
May his light be born in you tonight.
Friday, December 23, 2022
Give
Jesus wasn't rich.
Right? We know this. He was born a poor baby to a pair of poor parents, from a poor town.
But He said - Give, and it will be given to you. They will pour into your lap a good measure—pressed down, shaken together, and running over. For by your standard of measure it will be measured to you in return.”
He didn't just say this to the rich.
He preached it to His followers, He lived it out, and He celebrated generosity.
There's an older lady who lives in my neighbourhood. By any objective standard, she is poor. But she regularly shuttles our car-less neighbours to and from the grocery store, doctors appointments, the pharmacy. When any of them end up in hospital for an overnight stay or longer, she cares for their pets. A neighbour's mom recently passed away, and this lady took in her cats.
She's a poor woman from a poor town, and I know she feels the pinch as prices rise. But still she gives. She isn't a religious person, but she loves like Jesus, and our neighbourhood is better for her presence in it.
May we know people like this.
May we be them.
For Jesus' sake.
Merry Christmas, friends. xo.
Thursday, December 22, 2022
A Birch Wood
When I was younger, I had a dream that I met with the Lord in a forest of birches. We sat on a bench and talked, and I was filled with the most expansive peace.
For a long time after having that dream, whenever I would pray or pause to be in His presence, I pictured meeting Him in that grove.
It's been a long time since I thought of it, but the other morning when I woke up, it was on my mind. I paused to pray for the day, but for the life of me, I could not picture the forest, the bench, the green canopy of leaves. There was just - nothing.
No imaginary chapel in the birches, and no Jesus.
"Where did you go?" I asked, "Why can't I find you?"
But there was just silence.
The kids began to stir and I was catapulted into my day, ready or not.
I can't remember what happened - I was in the kitchen, and probably listening to music or maybe a podcast - and something made my heart soar upward. And suddenly I was very aware of Jesus' presence, He was right there - right in my busy morning, in my unfinished kitchen, with spiderwebs in the corners of the ceiling.
Immanuel. God with us.
Not God with us in church.
Not God with us in our quietest moments.
Not God with us in our best clothes.
Not God with us when we Stop To Pray.
God with us.
"I am with you always," He said. No birches required.
Merry Christmas, friends.
xo
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
Ode to my Favourite Heart Surgeon
He has been a heart surgeon for years
Carefully slicing into students and
Clearing the calcifying facade of apathy from their veins,
Jumpstarting their imaginations,
Restoring the link from pulse to ink.
He reads aloud like a
Pacemaker, steady and rhythmic,
And says the voice inside his head reads the same way.
His instruments are precise and sharp -
He is both expert and empathic, for
He knows whereof he speaks:
He, too, wrestles ideas down like alligators
And pins them to the page.
At the end of the school year
He scrawls post-operating instructions on every final packet.
WRITE! He wrote on mine,
Or I will hunt you down like a ghost across the misty chasm of time!
WRITE! WRITE! WRITE!
And the doctor's advice
Has stood me in good stead.
My heart beats, and I write.
💓
Thankful for Mr. McKay, who came through heart surgery of his own this week.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
On creating and loving
Undignified
(with apologies, and thanks, to Rachel, for pointing it out.)
Have you ever seen a daddy
Playing good guys versus baddies
Getting caught by little boys
With imaginary ropes?
Have you ever seen a papa
Play charades and making up
A bunch of crazy words and scenes
To pull gleeful from a hat?
Have you ever seen a dad
Tell his kids it's not so bad,
Check their closets, pray for good,
Before he sends them off to bed?
Have you ever heard your pops
When he showers, maybe mops,
Sing a silly song or rhyme
Because his heart is full of joy?
Have you ever seen an artist
Or a baker or the smartest
Person in your class intent
On unraveling their craft?
D'you think God, when making rainbows,
Or giraffes, or frosted windows
Keeps his face all prunes-and-prisms
- or when He sings, is it with glee?
I can see Him with his tongue out
As He shakes a sheet of rain out
So that one drop - just right there -
Slides on your cheek from off that tree -
When you love you dive in face-first
Watch the light of joy like grace burst
When your mind is racing busy
When you're all wrapped up love -
There's nothing dignified in love
It's silly; you can shove
That word straight out the window -
There's nothing dignified in love.
Inspired by the playful and loving dad who parents our kids, and by my friend Rachel's characterization of God in Zephaniah 3:17 -
For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.
Monday, December 19, 2022
Family Heirlooms
When I was little, my sisters and I would read for hours
Sharing a sleeve of saltines and well-worn paperbacks.
When my aunts were small, they would cuddle back to back
Dipping into the crinkly sleeve with one hand and turning pages with another.
Today, my kids leapt on the Premium Plus box with joy
And hied themselves couchward, post-haste.
Nobody passed this on intentionally.
There was never a ceremony of handing over the salty reins.
And yet, I am certain that in some glossy Christmas future,
I will find my grandkids curled around a sleeve of saltines, reading.
(Some of you might have a watch, a war medal, an immigration record
But I wouldn't trade my heritage of saltines and stories for anything.)
Sunday, December 18, 2022
Today I Unpacked a Dish
Now our cupboards are almost all installed, so we've put our temporary dishes in them, but I haven't been able to unpack our boxes full of all our true kitchen dishes because -
And so maybe, when you're ready - and you know you need to -
Saturday, December 17, 2022
All is Calm, All is Bright
There's something of the magic
In the stillness of the night
When snow has been fast-falling
And the world is drenched in white.
When the air is soft and muffled,
And the cold feels almost warm
And every set of tracks and prints
Buried by the storm.
Nothing out there's moving
And I could see it if it was -
The brightness glows from flake to flake
A billion lacy stars.
He wove it all, with weather
With stormy clouds and air just right -
God Himself lays down this blanket,
God Himself sings silent night.
Friday, December 16, 2022
De Sterrenacht
My favourite painting is De Sterrenacht (The Starry Night), by Vincent van Gogh. I'd never read van Gogh's life story, although I could identify his Sunflowers, and his self-portrait with a bandage over the ear that I'd heard he cut off himself in a fit of madness. (But after all, aren't all artists a bit mad? This is what they say.)
Today I saw a collection of stills from a Dr. Who episode about van Gogh, which left a rumbling curiosity behind. Mostly because I was fresh out of something to watch on Netflix, but also because I love The Starry Night, I decided to satisfy the rumble. (I poked around on a few places on the internet, but my biggest source was Britannica - click here to read their comprehensive entry.)
Van Gogh was born into a Protestant family. He was a quiet kid who liked the outdoors. At age 16 he began to work with his uncle, an art dealer.
At age 19, he suffered a heartbreak, being rejected by his love.
The encyclopedia doesn't say why, but he moved to England and worked as a teacher and lay preacher. I am pretty certain he was trying to get as far away from his pain as possible. He wanted to share the gospel, and ended up doing missionary work in southern Belgium, where he gave away everything he owned to the poor.
Upon learning he did that, the church told him he was interpreting the scriptures too literally, and dismissed him from his missionary post.
Rejected by his love, and rejected by the church that he loved, van Gogh gathered up his twice-broken heart and began to dedicate himself to painting, not to wallow in despair, but wanting to "bring consolation to humanity through art."
“I want to give the wretched a brotherly message,” he explained to his brother Theo. “When I sign [my paintings] ‘Vincent,’ it is as one of them.”
He painted - a lot - for ten years.
Then came the madness of the ear-episode. This is what we know.
On Christmas Eve, 1888, van Gogh and Gaugin had an argument. Britannica says "van Gogh snapped." The original story was that van Gogh chased Gaugin with a razor and then cut off the bottom half of his own ear. Then he took the severed earlobe to a brothel and asked the women there to guard it carefully.
Two art historians in 2008, however, published a work called Van Gogh's ear: Paul Gaugin and the Pact of Silence. They claim that Gaugin cut off van Gogh's ear with a sword, but the two men made a pact of silence and van Gogh took the blame for it. (I feel like this action is a lot more likely and in keeping with the character of his life so far than that he chased Gaugin down only to cut off his own ear.)
Anyway, after this he was checked into an asylum, and once he was released, checked himself back in in order to be under medical supervision. It was there he painted De Sterrenacht. He continued to experience periods of calm and despair.
He painted. He wrote long, detailed letters to friends. He wrote about seeing the steady luminous morning star, which he included in The Starry Night. He worked and he trembled with loneliness.
Eventually, the despair loomed larger than he could bear, and he shot himself. He died 2 days later.
I did not expect to find that the now-famous painter had once been a passionate preacher. I did not imagine that the theme of despair and consolation, which see-saws so heavily in my own life, was also the see-saw in his.
I did not expect to cry over an Encyclopedia Britannica entry.
But here we are.
And apparently I'm not the only one his life has spoken to. He is now considered one of the most widely influential artists of all time.
(ps if you want to cry over a song, here's one.)
And here's a screen-grab of the stills I saw that started me down this rabbit hole:
The thing about stars is, you can only see them at night. You can only really see them when everything around you is really dark.
And hope shines steady through the starry night.
(Did we miss it? We did not. God splashed the metaphor all over Bethlehem's night sky. The gift of the darkness is this: hope shines on.)
Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

