Bah humbug!

Someone wasn't in the Christmas spirit.

She didn't really want us to put up the Christmas lights...probably because it meant she'd have to stay inside while we were out in the cold.

Sure glad she doesn't chew everything in sight anymore or she'd be one sick puppy!!

Unlocking closed doors

The other night I had a bit of a disagreement...a spat if you will with my just-turned-20 son. I used poor judgment with my knee-jerk reaction and he became angry about house rules and suggested that he would just move out - an idea he's been tossing around. I think it's important for a young person to move out on their own and learn how to handle life....but not out of anger. Better to go with wisdom, a plan and some goals. I was more concerned in that moment that he would have the desire to set his own wise rules of conduct and boundaries so he would make good choices when he's on his own.

I went to bed to mull over how I could have handled the situation better. I was hurt, not about the incident, but that our relationship was rocky in that moment. I love my son immensely and don't want anything to stand between us. I had a very poor relationship with my mother -we always locked heads on issues and I was bitterly unhappy at home through the teen years. I felt like I was never allowed an opinion. She was just always right, end of discussion. That along with other things left me in a great deal of internal pain that for the most part stayed locked up in me for many years. I vowed I would never have a relationship like that with my own children and I very much embrace the statement found in The Purpose Driven Life, by Rick Warren: "We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it. "

But I'll admit I have battled over the stuff that's come out of me that reminds me of what I disliked in my mother. Spills out when I least expect it and annoys me. Amazing how so many responses are 'learned' and stick with us....so engrained we don't even recognize them in ourselves. It makes it difficult to 'unlearn' them. I learned in some studies I took as a young person that if you allow the people who 'grate' you to bug you enough, without realizing it, you actually start to become like them in your character. Funny how that works.

Anyways, as I lay in bed...(mothers do this to themselves)...I thought back to praying over my baby while he was still in my womb, the birth pains, foregoing sleep, sacrificing everything you are and have for the next many years as your life becomes all about raising your child.

Of course children don't recognize or remember the magnitude of sacrifice on their behalf. There is hardly a mother who is not truly hurt when a harsh word is spoken to her by her son or daughter because a mother asks nothing in return for the sacrifice of themselves that they have poured into their children. They quietly take the hits of unkind words, slammed doors, disobedience, etc while holding the love and care of all the years and memories in their hearts, and patiently wait for maturity to settle into their kids.

So being in a self reflective mode, I wasn't ready for what happened next. In that moment it was all about my pain that things were strained with my son....but the next moment was bizarre to me because it hit me out of nowhere. I can't describe it other than as an 'AHA' moment.

I suddenly could clearly see and understand that my mother had had exactly the same pain I was feeling.

In the past I always saw me as the victim and my mother as the one who was wrong, and though I had long ago forgiven her for all the pain I felt she had caused me and felt I was free of all that, I now could see all of my insolence to her, my crappy attitudes, my lack of concern for how she might have been feeling, and my self centered victim excuses, even into my adult years. I hadn't recognized her sacrifices.

My heart just kind of caved in at this revelation and I wept like a baby....a grieving kind of weeping as I have felt at gravesides....as I asked God over and over to forgive me for the pain I caused my mother. You know I can't remember ever seeing her cry, and yet I'm convinced she probably did when no one was around. And I had never cared about that.

So where did all that grieving come from?? I'm 51. That was like...30 years ago. My mom passed away several years ago.


I am not implying that my mother was a horrible person - she wasn't. I think she had her own private pain about stuff and quietly lived with many locked doors inside of her. No one can tell me pain from childhood whether perceived or real doesn't affect you into your adult life...even if you think you've dealt with it. We are often victims of victims. If you had a peaceful life, be very grateful. If you had some rocky times that you've shut away inside, keep your eyes wide open and your heart tuned. It may not be until your own children or other circumstance opens your eyes for an 'AHA' moment to bring healing of past pain.

Come to think of it, I had been meditating on forgiveness earlier in the week in regard to something else and had promised God I would surrender whatever He required of me in this area. Maybe God knew I needed this door unlocked that I wasn't even aware was solidly shut, in order to free me in other areas of my life.

Where are my glasses????

My all-time favourite comic strip is ZITS - I check it daily. My favorite is Jeremy looking at his dad who clearly has 5 pairs of glasses on his head and asking "Where are my glasses??". Meanwhile, his mother's purse is slung over her shoulders and she's desperately asking, "Has anyone seen my purse??". Jeremy shakes his head and mumbles that he couldn't WRITE stuff like this. I have vivid memories of feeling like Jeremy the teenager in this comic when I was his age, but now....I'm afraid of becoming like my parents. Where DID I put my coffee cup??

It's too funny. And the older I get, the more scary it is that we have moments when things are right there in front of our eyes and we don't see them. Now I don't mean to get all spiritual about a comic strip, but on the other hand.....my previous sentence could be a rather profound statement in the world of faith. Follow me for a minute. The existence of God can neither be proved nor disproved. Faith is as much required by an atheist, as a believer in God. (In my humble opinion, an atheist needs much, much more faith). But I just happen to be convinced that the 5 pairs of reading glasses are right there on the head...and the purse is right there slung around the shoulders...but we don't see....Him....the Creator.

So why does one person not see Him at all, and yet I see Him in everything? (That is not meant as a criticism - it is simply a statement).

I purchase fresh flowers every two weeks for my home because I am astounded by every petal and stamen and colour of a beautifully created living thing.

I put out bird seed daily to watch amazing creatures that rival any airplane fly about and live in the incredible order of nature.

I see the complex nature of the soil and insects and plants and seeds and bulbs in my gardens, as the seasons turn...always without fail.

The stars and planets, sun and moon - all perfectly placed to allow our existence.

I simply have to think and read about the awesome DNA and complete orderly systems that run and recharge themselves within my own body to be humbly awestruck by the Creator.

You could write libraries to fill the universe on all of these amazing 'creations'.

I cannot muster enough faith - not even the size of a mustard seed - to ever believe it just happened - no matter how many gazillion years you give it to have evolved.....from nothing. I see a Designer everywhere I look.....while others ask, "Has anyone seen God around here?"

Do I always 'feel' Him? Nope. Do I always 'hear' Him? Nope.

There have been times in my life when I have gone through depression and felt absolutely no emotion towards anything. Nothingness. Horrible nothingness. For a very long time.

Did I still trust God? Absolutely.

At those times in my life I would wake up feeling sick and couldn't even face the day, so I reached for my Bible before my feet hit the ground, immersed myself in it - and chose to believe that God was still there in the nothingness, caring for me. The description of His never changing character and unconditional love held me. I felt nothing, but trusted.

And that is what I believe God looks for from us....sometimes even tests it in us.

Trust.... in the moments we don't feel, hear or see Him. Faith.

Is that stupid? Is it a crutch? Is it just psychological?

You are welcome to believe that. But apparently we need to be like little children, with childlike faith - not like rocket scientists. Oh, we don't throw our brains out the window...but there will always be stuff we have no answers for. Like the child who just trusts Dad, even when he doesn't understand everything yet.

The thing that cements it for me is the person of Christ.

The story is that God himself became one of us in the person of Christ, laid His life flat out for me whether I cared or not, when He didn't have to.

That act of mysterious, unrivalled love provided me with the chance to know Him and be with Him when I'm done with this life. That event in history that we are soon to celebrate, screams really loudly to me that He's here. Reeeeeeeeally loudly. In fact, that event provides all the proof and assurance I need that God is alive and well. He gave all that He had, and all that He could. The rest is up to me.

I don't think He really needs to prove anything else to me. Do I believe He is the Saviour or do I walk away?

There's a wonderful mystery in humbling myself and trusting Christ. It's no longer a decision my mind has made....it becomes deeply spiritual. As I respond in love and profound gratitude to Him, His Spirit brings His words alive. The Bible that could otherwise be a history or theological book to me, now has life within its pages and it changes me as I respond. Christ refers to Himself as the bride of His church. Would we ever marry someone to only have an intellectual relationship with? No. It moves from the mind to the heart and into the spirit. His love and care for me is personal. I'm forgiven and I'm loved by the One who knows me.

He could choose to send angels or things to 'convince' me that He's real - but then I would not need faith, nor would I respond with a heartfelt love.

He could have made me a robot to force a response to Him, but I believe He gave Himself completely to win me, and now He yearns for a willing, loving, trusting response in return. Then it is truly a deep, loving, spiritual bond between us. It's the trusting that seems to invoke His response to me.

The more years I live, the more I really do see Him in everything, hear Him in my spirit and know that His Spirit lives in me. I can't possibly be convinced otherwise.

It has nothing to do with how I feel or the circumstances in my life. It's more than can be understood or figured out with the mind - my heart and spirit is engaged.

At times, it's overwhelming that I'm allowed to live in this place. Who can understand that God would want anything to do with me? It's beyond comprehension.

It's called joy - even when I'm not happy. It holds me during the rough times when the faith gets tested again. Should I ever plunge again into the darkness of depression, He will still hold me.

I read an article by Dale Fincher who told of an encounter with a dying man who pointed to the sea at sunset and asked "Where's God?" Funny how one can look at a sunset and ask that, while others are overwhelmed and see Him everywhere in the beautiful painted sky. What do you see? I'm going to have a look at that comic strip again. Question to self: In the light of what I've just rambled about.....which generation do I now think I identify with?

Addendum: I drafted most of this blog Saturday night. Sunday morning I was driving to church alone as my husband was called in to work. The song below (What Can I Do, by Paul Baloche) kicked in on our CD player and simply voiced all I was trying to say above. I cranked it and drove through misty eyes to church. To some, it's just a song. To millions who truly know their Saviour, it's a hearts cry. Listen with your heart....

NOT an emergency!

In my arrogance I used to wonder how some of my co-workers could ever dial 911 (Canada's emergency phone number) by accident at work. Practically everyone in our office has done it once or twice. Our office's phone system requires us to dial '9' for an outside line before commencing the rest of the number which of course must be followed by '1' before the area code. How could they be so careless to let their finger linger too long on the '1'??

Then about a year ago I was the guilty party. It's a terrible feeling when you know you have just dialed 911 in error and they won't go away. You can't hang up. They will find you. And if you don't talk to them, you'll be seeing a fire truck, ambulance, and police on the scene, so you'd better fess up right away. At the very least, it is required that a cop come and visit you because it's their policy. I managed to talk the dispatcher out of sending the police, but I was just lucky that they broke policy that time.

Well............yesterday I did it again. I had to swallow my pride and despite my begging to the dispatcher, she said a police officer would be visiting me at the office shortly. While my co-workers snickered (oh they pretended they weren't), I slunk up to the front of the office and sheepishly greeted the 20-something cop who very politely poised his pen on his notebook and took down my name, my phone number and my birthdate. Why did they need my birthdate?? I figured that as he jotted it down, he was quietly surmising....mhmm...senility setting in....makes sense at that age. He kindly smiled and said, "Thank you ma'am. Sorry to have bothered you" (??), and I replied "No problem". (Tell me, what was WRONG with that conversation?)

I wish that was the end of my story. It's not.

Today.....yet again.....only hours later..........I stuttered on that '1' key again. Sick feeling. Dumb idiot feeling. I want to die feeling. Shouldn't they just fire me feeling. I pleaded with the dispatcher not to send the police, but somehow telling her that I did the same thing yesterday didn't seem the wisest thing to say. As I waited for the police officer, I hoped with all my heart it would not be the 20-something cop from yesterday. I went to the lone male co-worker whose too-thinly walled cubicle is surrounded by cubicles inhabited by menopausal women (that would include me) and told him he might as well just mock me now and get it over with. He was very kind. My phone rang. It was the police station verifying my location - the police would be there momentarily. I decided to head the cop off at the pass, rather than face a second day of humiliation in front of everyone at the front desk. I went out in the hall and met him there before he could enter the office. Thankfully it was not the same young fellow. This guy took no notes, just very kindly said he was so glad I was okay and that there was no emergency, and to my apology he replied not to worry - everyone slips up.

Three strikes and you're out? I am now paranoid. When I need to use the phone located to my left on the desk, I will stop using my left hand to dial which I just recently started to do (I'm right handed). I will pull my hand away immediately after the '9-1', even if I don't think the '1' quite got pressed.

It should be noted that several years ago I removed 911 from the programmed keys on my phone at home....after the dispatcher told me to......because I had pressed it while cleaning the keys of the phone. She wisely said it only takes 2 seconds to dial 911, so don't program it in!

I am resigned to count myself fortunate that our emergency system is well tested..... by people like me..... and we can count on patient, kind people to be there for us in the event of a real crisis!

Demise of the Money Plant

The whole world's talking about economic woes. I have a few of my own.

Back in the spring of April 2007, I posted this picture on a blog of a lush plant I bought and was so excited to find out it is called a money plant.

I was hoping to find tens or twenties growing on it within a year or so.

Well here we are a year and a half later, and I will tell you I'm a better outdoor gardener than indoor. Apparently the darn thing needed water or something. I'm ashamed to post the picture, but here's what that plant looks like now. Pathetic.

I'm afraid that may be a picture of some people's savings and pensions given the latest economic crisis, and I do not jest about that. It must be a terribly frightening time especially for seniors who had planned to live on money that has now dried up, just like my plant. Very troubling indeed.

Somehow I think many in our North American culture have come to believe we will always be secure and have plenty, and though there is poverty all around us in our urban centres, those of us with a paycheque and a comfortable life can find it easy to become oblivious to those with little. Hunger to us, is when our stomach rumbles after having had 2-3 meals that day, with snacks in between. Our spare time is taken in amusing ourselves, spending plenty of time and money on entertainment lest we succumb to boredom. Maybe we need a bit of a shakeup?

If you asked an average child/teen/twenty year old in our North American culture what their favorite activities are, what would their responses be? Video games, IPOD, cell phone, IPhone, MSN, MySpace, TV, going to a movie, hangin' out with friends.....?

This week I got an update from a friend who is 14 and she lists her 3 top favorite activities as:

1) sweeping,

2) fetching water,

3) washing clothes.

Fetching water.

That's probably a clue that the other favorite...washing clothes... will be a chore done without a washing machine. If these are her favorite activities, does she know the meaning of the word leisure?

Picture yourself fetching water everytime you need some for drinking, cooking, washing, and growing your food. Kinda puts the Iphone on the back burner.

About a year ago we began to sponsor this teenager, Josiane, through World Vision. She lives in Rwanda and is in grade 4. Her parents died some time ago. She lives with relatives with a family of their own and they find it difficult to care for her. Here is the description from World Vision of Josiane's community:

"The social fabric of the community has been ravaged by Hutu and Tutsi genocide. Your child has survived the killing of thousands of friends, neighbours or fellow citizens. Unfortunately, many of Rwanda's families are headed by widows with no means of support. More than 85,000 families ...{can you grasp that number?} ... are headed by children - sometimes as young as 11."

I truly feel for people in our culture who are struggling financially through no fault of their own. Perhaps it's a time for all of us to take stock of all we have, be grateful for a roof, a bed, food and clothes, and give out of any abundance we have beyond that, to those who don't even have those basics. That said in a week when a complaint has been filed with the New Brunswick Human Rights Commission, declaring that high speed internet should be a basic human right, as opposed to 'suffering' with the misery of dialup. Oh my. Maybe we should make sure everyone has food first?

Amazing Autumn

These are a few shots I took on Thanksgiving weekend. But if you want to enjoy real photography....head on over to

nature55's photostream on Flickr

and enjoy this person's amazing slideshow!

Pie in the Sky

{ We interrupt this normally peaceful blogplace with an uncharacteristic rant }

I really dislike listening to negative people go on and on about politics and how the government is this and that....and yet here I am...at the end of an election campaign....ranting. I know I'm ridiculous with my pie in the sky wish for politicians to 'get along'. But really, why can't they? Or do they work together well behind the scenes and it just never makes it to the media?? Canadians would agree that politicians need to grow up...and in fact Rick Mercer gave an awesome rant on election night on just this subject. If you missed it, you can watch it here (Page 2, Rick's Rant).

At home, we teach our kids to be polite, to listen and respect other people's opinions. It's rude to yell at others, to interrupt them when they're speaking, to disrespect or dig up rumours and spread them to slander another person.

At work, we are taught team building and conflict resolution skills. We are assured that no idea is ever stupid but has merit and is worthy of consideration. And if there is a problem, you attack the issue, not the person.

So why, with issues so important as to affect our whole country, do we not embrace these skills to solve problems and bring solutions for the good of all Canadians? We entrust our money to politicians. And we trust them to make decisions and implement changes that affect our lives in so many ways. So why are many of them immune from acting like responsible adults, and degrade themselves in the House to everything I would hope they taught their children not to do and be?

I suppose Parliament has always been this way(?). Perhaps politicians view themselves as being 'strong' and nobly fighting for a good cause when they yell and insult each other. But it's really more often about the party and its leader surviving for another term in office, not the long term future for our grand children's children. I would say most Canadians don't care as much about political parties anymore as they do about having a job, food on their table, health care for their families, education, the future of the planet, etc. Is it any wonder many are just apathetic about politicians and trust few, if any of them? (This is NOT to say we should give up, not vote, or not be involved in the process. Apathy is just as bad as the politicians' behaviour.) There are many well meaning, wonderful MPs and MPPs and I commend them for the hard work they do for their constituents, but how frustrating must that job be when you are opposed on all sides in what you wish to achieve?

My pie in the sky political dream came about as I sat and watched the Debate between the leaders of the main parties. Remember that? They all sat around a table together. Check out these images. It may be the last time you see them for a while.

(Is Harper contemplating giving a kiss to Duceppe? Create your own caption.) So....if those people could be amiable for one evening (although they politely ripped the faces off each other in debate), what could happen if all of them put their ideas on the table and no one lit into the other about how stupid their idea is?

Be ridiculous with me. We're listening to The Debate. The opposition leaders attack Harper, pounding him on his record, calling him a liar, and spouting why their ideas are superior and his will never work. Harper turns and says, "You know Stephane and Elizabeth, you have some excellent ideas in your platform. We may not be able to afford some of them, but I'd like us to take a long look at what you've proposed and see what agreement we can come to. I realize we differ greatly in many areas but at the end of the day we all want Canadians to benefit from this. You've done a great job in detailing what Canadians see as important, your platform is strong, and I'd like to strive to reach a consensus on the more difficult issues on which we disagree. And Jack, I completely agree with the principles you're talking about. I see different ways in achieving those goals and we all know the areas in which we disagree, but I'd like to implement some of what you've proposed, and I'd like you to consider some of my proposals as well. And I think you've been doing an excellent job in this campaign informing the voters of the key issues." Then witness speechless politicians.

Grossly exaggerated but you get the point. But no, it's about winning votes, even if it means slandering the other guy and his ideas. Not about consensus or agreement. At least not on the campaign trail.

Each platform has something salvageable in it for everyone. So why can't politicians lay it all out, pull out all the pieces from each platform that have workable, achievable ideas right now; begin the work toward give-and-take compromise to bring solutions around the table, instead of attacking each other. Yes, there's a party 'in power', but why can't all ideas be respected from all parties and the 'no one is stupid and every idea has merit' principle be in affect? I've always found it interesting when a great political leader dies - all of sudden the opposing leaders, who had so viciously attacked the deceased when they were living, now have the most wonderful things to say about the person. So why not recognize strengths in leaders now while they're living, and utilize them all to build a great country of Canada?

Never mind. How ridiculous! I'm stupid and my idea doesn't have merit.

{ Rant is complete. We now return you to our regularly peaceful blogplace. }

Addendum: I drafted the above blog during the counting of the ballots on election night. I'd had enough of the campaign and tired of the rhetoric. Last night I listened to each of the leader's speeches when it was all over. Jack, Stephane and Steven all spoke respectably of each other (even though nobody had died yet!) and talked of working together in this Conservative minority framework to achieve similar goals for Canadians. Here's hoping they remember their words and sit down around a Boardroom table again with the good of Canadians first and foremost. And just maybe it's our job not to slander the politicians in return, lest we be just as guilty of the behaviour we despise...... but to cover them with prayer... now there's an idea with merit!

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

today, don't focus on

....your circumstances

....how you feel

....how you wish things were

....your disappointments and hurts

....your fears for the future

...these things change from moment to moment...

focus instead on the Unchangeable One

...and give Him thanks

you won't always feel it.....

but He's got you covered on all sides with His love.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good!

His faithful love endures forever.

Psalm 107:1 - The Bible (New Living Translation)

Eyes of Respect (or what I learned at a Catholic church)

It's been another one of those months....too many visits to funeral homes. Today was like deja vu as many of my work friends gathered at the same Catholic church for funeral mass that we did over a year ago for another co-worker. Today we honoured the memory of a woman who left work four years ago with breast cancer and over the last few weeks she had enough of the fight and passed away. She was seven years older than me.

I find it interesting to visit churches of other faiths and observe. The Catholic church is, of course, steeped in traditions and rituals that are very old. I sat beside a co-worker who is Catholic and I asked her to nudge me if there was something I should be doing. I stood when everyone stood. I couldn't respond with the appropriate phrases because I didn't know when. I didn't kneel at the bench or take communion as I was not allowed to. And I really didn't know what to voice to God when the priest asked us to bow our heads to pray for the deceased. I recognized the Scriptures and the gospel and the reflections on the place Christ was preparing and that He was coming back for us. And I wondered if God was comfortable here.

As I walked back to work with my co-worker I asked her if she could clarify something I've always been curious about. I asked her if it was okay for Catholics to pray directly to God, because in a moment of crisis, doesn't everyone (including atheists!) cry out to God for help? If so, what was the purpose of the priest and confession, particularly since they also believe that Christ is the Saviour and therefore, is He not the one who forgives us and is the mediator between us and God? She stated emphatically that they can pray to God themselves, but that they go to the priest for the stuff you need forgiveness for. Then she said that actually things have changed a lot over the years and now you really only have to confess the big stuff to the priest. I asked how you draw the line at 'big stuff' and she clarified that it would be mortal sins, like killing someone, and things like that...I think her voice trailed off. Then she said, 'But I really think it's just because the priest wants to know what you've been up to!' to which she broke off in peals of laughter. She did go on to tell me of a monk she enjoyed who told everyone they need to 'lighten up', have fun, and enjoy their Christianity, and that the church must be relevant to the current generation. On that point we totally agreed.

I'm still contemplating one thing the priest said when talking of the care the family gave during this woman's illness. He stated that compassion is not something that can be done from a distance. It takes your involvement in time and effort, your continual care and love, setting aside your own agenda for the need of another. And it means giving respect to that person. Respect comes from the same word as spectacles (glasses) - think of it as a pair of glasses you put on - you look out through the eyes of respect at the person, not back at yourself and your needs. (It's not all about me).

With the needs of people all around us, the gift of compassion and respect to others can fill up an entire lifetime. I was reminded again today that life itself can be far too short. Let's leave gifts wherever we go!

All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.

The Message Bible, II Corinthians 1:3,4

Hidden songs

by the hand of Your Spirit
play the strings of my heart
and reveal

all my
hidden songs

by Your love

let me hear it



when the song in my heart is not for You

hold me in Your hands
receive me as I am
and take
take me away
I wanna be in the secret place

on the waves of Your mercy
I will sail on Your sea
I will give to You all of me

in the light of Your glory
I will lay on my face and worship You




hold me in Your hands
receive me as I am

and take
take me away
I wanna be in the secret place
with You is where I wanna be

Lord I worship You
Lord I love You
Lord I love You
Lord I need You
Lord I love You
Lord I need You
Lord I worship You

and I lift my heart and my hands to You
all my days

Secret Place, By Lincoln Brewster

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty.
Psalm 91:1

The Bible, New King James Version

Striking artwork

Yesterday I came across a rather unique artist's rendering of a bird not unlike a sparrow but with a slightly longer tail. Notice the white breast feathers, the brown and delicate black shadings on its wings, and its head tucked out of sight under its wing. Varying textures were used throughout to give a 3-D affect. Interposed on the canvas behind the bird, is a barely visible camera as if to suggest a birdwatcher capturing the moment. Interesting and striking piece of work.

Well, the artist part might not be the whole truth.

But it definitely involves a bird, perhaps a large one.....striking...yah, that would be accurate.

Actually, here's another picture of it which will perhaps give you a different perspective. That is a car door handle at the upper left.

It was indeed a striking piece of work, and according to my husband, it was not a beautiful sight to clean it up! See...I've been telling you birds are creative creatures!

Let the Games Begin...(and the Promises)

Gotta love Canadian politics. We will be exposed to 6 intense weeks of election fervour as opposed to...what is it?...2....or does it seem like 5 years of American campaign rhetoric?

The competition has begun. And after hearing the promises starting to roll in today, I have just one piece of advice for the party leaders that may save a lot of needless arguing.

Why not simply make a promise similar to that of the big box stores?

"For every single thing our opposition promises....we'll
beat it by 10%. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back."

Of Cardinals and Crows

If it's not already evident, I am an avid bird watcher - well at least in my own neighbourhood. I'm not a junkie or anything - like those people who go out at early morning hours into wooded areas or ponds to count birds and keep records...

But I keep an eye on the birds in our yard and lately it's been all about cardinals and crows. Who doesn't love a cardinal? Beautiful, graceful, faithful birds. The most I have ever seen at a time is usually a family of four. Mom and Dad take turns helping each other feed and raise the young son and daughter - everything but the picket fence and the golden retriever....(well actually she is nearby). But this year I can't even count all the cardinals. I've counted up to nine at once in a tree and then I lose track. So we have set up special feeders just for them (try to tell that to the squirrels), with their favorite offering of sunflower and safflower seeds.

Tonight we spotted yet another small baby cardinal being steadily, faithfully fed by his Dad from one of our feeders. But then we heard the 'Caw Caw!!' of a crow above and Dad flew off. I don't know if the baby is okay because we had to leave.

Crows around our place always seem to travel in threes. When you're used to viewing songbirds, the crows remind me of huge thugs from the mafia - with New Joisey accents and cigars in their mouths. It got me interested in what crows eat - I was hoping it wasn't baby birds, but well...let's not talk about that.

I googled crows and did a little research. I've always heard that crows were super intelligent so I got a chuckle out of this video on Youtube.

And this one, though it made me a little nervous. (I don't like wild birds around who might be more intelligent than me).

Although I think it's very cool, I doubt you'll find me doing this with any crow (or raven) anytime soon....nor with a skittish cardinal, though I'd love to.

More SCC

I really do listen to other music than just Steven Curtis Chapman's. Really. But bear with me as I share a third blog in a row with his name in it. I have always drawn strength from so many of his lyrics, but I believe so many more people are going to relate to his music now - especially with what he produces in future - with the depth of grief he has experienced.

If you are interested, here are links to interviews he and his family did this week to talk about the grief they have been working through. Have a kleenex handy and listen to one with Good Morning America and the other with Larry King on CNN - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6 (Part 6 has the new verse to 'Yours', as in my previous blog).

Yours

"I’ve walked the valley of death’s shadow

So deep and dark that I could barely breathe

I’ve had to let go of more than I could bear

And questioned everything that I believe

But still even here in this great darkness

A comfort and hope come breaking through

As I can say in life or death

God we belong to you."


Steven Curtis Chapman - "Yours"

(The above is a brand new verse 4 that has been added to the original song since recently walking through that valley and losing his 5 year old daughter.)

We will miss you Joy

"This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams

And now you've gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but ...

We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no

And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope (There's a place by God's grace)
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We'll see your face again

And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God's plan

But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
'Cause now you're home
And now you're free, and ...

We have this hope as an anchor
'Cause we believe that everything God promised us is true, so ...

We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope"

With Hope, By Steven Curtis Chapman

A Little Summer R & R (Repair and Reorganize)

I need to get back to work tomorrow. After a two week vacation, I need a rest!

Oh, the first part of our two weeks off was wonderful. Lots of fun and activities with family and friends. The last half was spent cleaning and organizing and fixing. I learned I can even go without keeping up with news events and stay off the computer for an entire week....and not miss it at all!

Our bedroom has now been totally transformed to a peaceful and organized place - I can't believe my fingers just typed that! After 28 years of marriage and with kids, does anyone ever have a bedroom that doesn't harbour everything but the kitchen sink? More on that in a future blog....

My favorite part of our bedroom is this picture.

I couldn't resist buying it when I saw it. It now hangs over our bed and reminds me of our dog who has been known to creep from her place at the end of the bed up to the pillows, and peacefully sleep when we're not home (I have spies).

What a wonderful verse to hang over your head when you're snoozin'!!

Now if I can only come up with one to boot me out of bed when I've got to go to work.....perhaps a little King James version of Proverbs 6:9...."How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? when wilt thou arise out of thy sleep?"

Rabbit Droppings

I think I need therapy.

At times I believe that I am Mother Nature. No, on second thought, I'm much kinder than her. Call me Mother Nurture.

Last weekend I realized just how severe my 'problem' has gotten. Let me backtrack. Eleven days ago our dog made us very aware that we have yet another nest of baby rabbits beside the stairs of the deck. (Last year, there were 7 baby rabbits born on the other side of the stairs). Now, every time Nikki goes outside, she immediately runs to the nest - which is basically just a hole in the ground covered in a mixture of grasses and rabbit fur - and begins to dig her nose in to find them and tries to pull back the grass with her paw. The babies are laying nestled in a tight little ball just inches below their covering.

Here is a picture of them at just about a day or two old - their little bodies devoid of hair.

On the first day we found the babies, I was so afraid about Nikki's clawing, that I foolishly built a barrier around the nest, leaving room for Mother Rabbit to get in.

(I ask you, is this a picture of someone in their right mind?) By that evening however, I was so worried that the mother would never come back with all those chairs around, that I moved them all out of the way again. I was most concerned that I had not seen the mother anywhere, and wondering if she had abandoned them. Last year, the mother wasn't afraid and would nurse the babies while we were nearby. So I did some internet research and was relieved to learn that initially the mother rabbit only nurses once a day, most often in the middle of the night when no one is around, and then she stays far from the nest so as not to attract attention to it. (But why didn't she build it under the deck away from the dog????!!)

Each day, I pulled back the covering to ensure the babies were still alive, growing, and unharmed by the cats in the neighbourhood. Momma must have been caring for them. After a week they began to grow fur though their eyes were not yet open. I wanted so badly to gently stroke them or hold them, but I dared not.

Last weekend, we had visiting out of town relatives, so we invited family over for a BBQ. Of course our dog had to socialize with everyone on the deck which was fine when she kept distracted with the copious food that was all around her. But then Momma Rabbit decided to show up. Maybe she was concerned with all these people right around her babies, but she started getting braver and trying to make her way to the nest even with everyone sitting nearby. Any time someone stood up, she would hop away, and then slowly ease her way back again. We were all watching her. But then Nikki spotted her. Off the dog shot down the stairs with me in hot pursuit.

It was a slow-mo moment.

My hand was just an inch from her collar but I couldn't grab her as I chased her down the steps and tried to hang onto a plate of food at the same time. All I could attempt to grab was her tail and I held onto it for a brief moment, only to be left with some dog hair in my hand. How cruel was that to grab my dog's tail in the heat of the moment?! Hamburger and salads slid off my plate unto the ground as I chased the dog and yelled at her to stop. (Like a retriever would stop chasing a rabbit!). Poor Momma. She zig-zagged across the lawn with Nikki (the arthritic dog) right behind her, but she squeezed through the fence to the safety of the neighbours yard.

When others began picking up my food off the ground, I realized how stupid I must have looked and how I could have injured myself frantically trying to grab the dog while negotiating stairs and balancing paper plate piled with food. Thankfully no video cameras were capturing the moment.

I carried on conversation with my nephew and, perhaps with his psychological bent he sensed in pity, my need for therapy. He wondered if I might like to nurture some duck eggs that didn't hatch for a mother duck on his university campus. I began to picture a large pond in the yard with a family of ducks, but someone offered information that mother ducks will abandon eggs that are not going to hatch. Dream dissolved.

A little later, my daughter and her friend arrived to the BBQ and I'm not sure I even said hello before I began into the story of the rabbits. They looked at each other and broke into laughter immediately. My daughter interrupted and said to her friend, "You see? I told you she'd start talking about rabbits!!" It was then that it hit me that I'm a little too possessed in my desire to nurture nature. Apparently, as I was in the driveway saying goodbye to some of the relatives, the mother rabbit nursed her babies as the rest watched from the deck - with Nikki safely on leash. I felt better.

The next day, Momma Rabbit began pulling dead grass at the back of the yard and piling it over a hole she dug in the garden. We thought she might be planning to move her babies away from all the commotion, but they haven't moved, so perhaps it was her desperate attempt to draw attention away from her babies.

Here is what the bunnies look like now. Time will tell how many are in the 'pile'. Don't you just want to stroke that little head and scratch behind the ears? Very shortly, they will begin to scatter around the yard and we will have to keep the dog on a leash, until they move on. Otherwise, they will end up in Nikki's mouth for sure.

Much later in the evening of the BBQ, we saw a skunk on the front lawn. I'll have to do a little research about their nesting habits and see how eager I am to risk injury chasing a dog pursuing an odd looking striped kitty. Hopefully Momma skunk runs when pursued... with tail between legs!

It's a bird...it's a plane....it's a....lawnchair

My newspaper met me this morning with an interesting article. A man who lives in a town of 500 (picture that...a little boredom perhaps?) had a lofty dream as a boy to fly in a lawn chair using hellium balloons. I remember reading about him before...this was his third attempt. And this time he succeeded in flying from central Oregon to Idaho. He created quite a stir for all those small town folks.

Myrtle: "Wilbur! What in tarnation is that up in the sky?"

Wilbur: "Land sakes! It's a cotton-pickin' feller in a lawn chair!"

Lofty dreams indeed.

It seems to have been a recurring theme for me in the last few weeks.

The other day I blogged of the challenge of a Sunday sermon. I am still telling myself that "I am a world changer" and trying to get a handle on that. This Sunday our pastor showed a video clip with descriptions of the 12 unlikely guys that Jesus chose to get his message out and help others....fisherman, bribe taker, terrorist, doubter, loud mouth, etc.

In the afternoon I went to watch Rumble perform and the theme of the event was, "Ordinary people doing extraordinary things". Again, God chose a dreamer (Joseph), a bumbling speaker (Moses), a deceiver (Jacob), a shepherd boy (David), and so on.

In the evening, I listened to the Watoto African Childrens Choir. Individual children, who are so amazingly gifted in music and dance, spoke of their lives in Uganda. They have been orphaned by Aids and other tragedies, children raising children because there are no parents. Little hope you would think. Yet they plan to be leaders in their country, each with lofty goals in the midst of insurmountable difficulties. To watch them joyfully dance and sing, "I Am Not Forgotten" is a heart tugging moment.

Ordinary people.

Imperfect people.

Unfortunate people.

With lofty dreams and goals despite incredible odds.

I'm going to go outside and rig up a lawn chair. Or maybe sit in it for a bit until I have a goal with a lot more impact for Myrtle and Wilbur.

I am not forgotten

I am not forgotten

I am not forgotten

God knows my name

He knows my name

Light over darkness

Strength over weakness

Joy over sadness

He knows my name

Father to the fatherless

Friend to the friendless

Hope for the hopeless

He knows my name

I will praise You

I will praise You

For I am fearfully and wonderfully made

I am not forgotten

Never forsaken

"I Am Not Forgotten" Israel

Ironing things out

I'm afraid I have a confession to make.

I'm using again.

Funny, I had always been proud of the fact that I wasn't a user any more. I had tried it a few times but it consumed my time and left me so dissatisfied.....and yet now, I find myself slinking down to the secluded laundry room to do it in private. It all started up again for me when I recently bought a bedskirt.

Yes, I bought a bedskirt which, as an added bonus, helps to conceal the golden retriever hair clumps that gather under the bed. I put the 'dryclean only' bedskirt into the washing machine, and then the dryer, and it came out really wrinkled. It looked awful and it really needed to be neatly pressed so the pleats would hang nicely and look sharp (while hiding the dog hair). I spent the next 15 minutes trying to find my iron. It was a used iron with a detachable cord that would never stay attached. I would have to keep holding the cord in place in order to keep the iron hot, and I guess that was what cured me forever from using.

I have tidbits of memories of my mother using a huge contraption to iron sheets when I was very young. I was fascinated by it. I cannot believe that I found the exact same machine on the internet on a website dedicated to the history of ironing (mmmhmm....the whereto place for exciting reading - actually, the website is quite humorous to me in places, especially the old advertisements). When I saw these pictures I felt like I flashed back into my childhood - bizarre! I remember that red cardboard tube and I can still smell the freshly pressed sheets, and hear the sounds of the Gladiron as my mom pushed the lever with her knee.

I don't remember the machine in my later childhood. My mother got an iron and....no word of a lie.......I watched her iron underwear. She ironed underwear!!!! She worked full time, managed a household, and ironed underwear and pillowcases and dish towels and men's handkerchiefs (and everyone born after the 70's says, 'handkerchiefs??). Oh you may still see those today if you're a church goer. Some ministers use them to wipe the sweat from their brow after having wiped their nose with it. I would refuse to marry any man who would want to own (and use) a handkerchief and expect me to wash (and iron) it.

So I think my rebel little heart learned young that I would never iron anything I didn't have to. When I married, I proudly bragged that anything that wrinkled would simply go back in the dryer until the wrinkles were gone. There is no place in a busy woman's life for such a time-wasting task on something that is just going to wrinkle again anyways. My kids don't have memories like me of an iron....except for the fall leaf project in elementary school - remember that waxed paper smell of ironing those leaves? If you ever had a rare emergency ironing job after that, the smell of autumn leaves and waxed paper emanated from the iron years later.

.....Back to my search for the old iron..... It must have been my husband who put the iron aside when we did some renovating in the basement. I finally found it in an old 4 quart fruit basket covered in dirt, dust, and cobwebs. I guess he didn't know what it was!

Good for nothing now but the garbage. So, off to Wal-mart I went and bought a new fangled iron with retractable cord. I was so impressed with the job it did on my bedskirt that I went on and ironed a few other things. After all, I wanted to get my money's worth for this new iron. Then I spent hours cleaning out the laundry room (you have no idea how much junk I threw out) to the point that I could permanently set up my ironing board. I knew that if the iron wasn't readily accessible, I would never pull it out again.

Oh the irony.

And so I'm back to being a user. (I'm glad I've aired the dirty laundry.) I have ironed a few of my shirts that I normally accepted as 'supposed' to have the wrinkled look. What a difference. Now people don't look at me with that 'poor woman...she must have slept in her clothes' look in their eyes anymore.

Oh don't be concerned about me. I'm still only an occasional user and plan to stay that way. If I ever do become hardcore, don't you worry. I'll get things ironed out.