Taking heart

I astonish myself sometimes with my own thick headedness. Life lessons that I thought I’d learned once and for all, lessons I was sure I had down pat, issues I was convinced would never surface again – rear their ugly head and remind me of my own frailty and need to depend on God.

I’ve been going through something like that in recent days. And it surprises me that this lesson is obviously still to be learned.

I once thought – not consciously, of course, but obviously thought nonetheless – that if I lived my life sincerely trying to please God, then I would somehow be rewarded for it. It’s not that I expected brownie points or gold stars. I didn’t go around thinking, “If I do A, then God will reward me with B.” At least, not that I was aware of. But somehow – I know that’s what I thought. I know it, because when bad stuff happened, I got angry at God and wanted to know “Why???!!!” My own sense of justice was offended. It just wasn’t fair. After all, hadn’t I tried to do right?

Jesus warned us that life would be hard, that we would suffer. “In this world you will have trouble,” the gospel writer records Jesus saying in John 16:33. So we shouldn’t be surprised when trouble comes. But somehow, trouble often catches me off guard.

I’ve had a disappointment recently and my old, bad theology surfaced once again. I just couldn’t understand how this thing, of all things, could have happened. Hadn’t I done everything in my power – almost my entire adult life – to ensure it never did? And once again, I found myself asking, “Why, God???!!!”

It’s been agonizing to be honest. Throat-clenchingly agonizing. Emotional-pain-that-I’ve-felt-in-my-physical-body agonizing. I’ve shed more tears, and cried out to God for His wisdom, guidance, and help more times in the past week than I think I’ve done in the entirety of the past year.

Sometimes life presents hard stuff that I just don’t know how to handle on my own.

But I know now that all the while that I was crying and raging by day, and tossing and turning by night, I wasn’t listening. 

Yesterday – I realized I’d crossed a line. Expressing my hurt and anger, worry and fear had hurt someone I love. I knew I needed to rein in my emotions but felt completely incapable of doing so. And so I prayed for help, and then determined to behave as though help would be given. I would ignore the tempestuous voices on the inside – and put on a smile on the outside – going forward. I would no longer dwell on what’s past, what cannot be changed. I would focus only on loving in the present, hoping for the future, and trusting in God’s grace and ability to redeem what’s gone wrong.

And you know what? Help came. Today.

I heard God speak. Not in an audible voice of course. But His voice – which came through the words of others – again and again throughout the day  - was astonishingly clear. It communicated that this battle – that I have been attempting to fight through all my internal worrying and wrestling – indeed, that I’ve been fighting for more than 20 years by trying to ensure this bad thing that has occurred never would – is not mine, but God’s. (2 Chronicles 2:15)

I received that message in various ways and through various people. Four times today. I wouldn’t have heard it, if I’d still been raging.

And tonight, I am at peace.

***

 “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

- John 16:33

Good Friday goodness …

I’ve just returned from Good Friday service to an empty house; circumstances have conspired to give me an afternoon alone. I plan to use the time for reflection and quiet study in preparation for an exam I have to write for my Character and Ethics class, Monday evening.

But the reflections have already begun. The service this morning prompted deep emotions to surface, and I came home feeling somewhat solemn. As I made myself a sandwich I pondered how “Good Friday” was – in every sense – completely awful; for it was a day of betrayal, suffering, and the death of an innocent. The reason Christians call it “Good,” is we believe death wasn’t the end of the story. Indeed, it was the death of that innocent, Jesus, which made possible the hope of redemption.

But 2,000 years ago, the first Good Friday launched a wretched “in between time” for Jesus’ disillusioned followers who didn’t realize it was an “in between time” at all. They were devastated. Scattered. Scared. Everything they’d pinned their hopes on had been destroyed. They didn’t know that Easter – and resurrection – was coming.

Parsley sprouting

Then I looked out my kitchen window to our wee backyard. The yard was bathed in sunlight. Some little glimpses of green caught my eye, sparking new thoughts, and sending me running for my camera in order that I might share them with you.

 

You see, it’s an “in-between time” in our backyard. There’s still abundant evidence out there of the dregs of winter. There’s much tending, grooming, cultivating and planting that needs to be accomplished before things look pretty again. The ground is hard. Fall’s debris lingers.

Clematis reaching for the sun

And yet, there are signs everywhere – even in the midst of all the dreariness - that resurrection and beauty are coming.

And as I snapped photos of those glimpses of green – sprouting amidst all the death and decay – it occurred to me that God has built evidence for resurrection into all of nature. And I thought,  ”This is why I believe!”

Chives growing

“Scientific explanations exist for all that I see and hear outside my window. And explanations can be proposed for why humans enjoy nature so much. But faith in God is not about explanations. We do not believe in God because we need to explain this or that feature of the world. That is what science is for. We believe in God because we see something deeper in the world, something that transcends the scientific explanations.”

-       Karl Giberson

Where hope becomes faith …

“At the point where hope would otherwise become hopelessness, it becomes faith.”

– Robert Brault

My Ethics & Character class this week featured a guest lecturer, addressing the subject of bioethics. As part of the class, he played a video that featured brief profiles of two couples. Each couple – during their first pregnancy – had learned through routine ultrasound that their developing fetus had “abnormalities.” One couple – whose developing female child had heart defects – chose to terminate their pregnancy. The other couple – whose developing male child had severe physical deformities – allowed their pregnancy to proceed to term.

I’ve been reflecting on their stories all week. Both couples spoke of anguish. The couple that chose abortion expressed anguish over the difficulty of making their decision to abort – and continuing emotional pain even years later. The couple that gave birth to their son spoke of the gift they feel he has been to their lives – even as they admitted to the daily anguish of being witness to his suffering and caring for his special needs.

The topic of abortion has been much in the media this week, and with every story and opinion piece I’ve read, my mind has gone back to those two couples – and to a time when my husband and I also received uncertain news in the form of results from a routine ultrasound.

And as I’ve mulled this subject over, I’ve found it sadly ironic that the Canadian Medical Association Journal notes it is “Canada’s deep-rooted respect for diversity” that is leading to ethically questionable choices about “the kinds of people we want as children and the kinds of people we feel should be born.”

Sixteen years ago, I was 35, and pregnant with our third child. Shortly after our routine ultrasound at 18-weeks, my doctor delivered the news that the sonogram had revealed choroid plexus cysts on our baby’s brain. He explained the possible connection with Trisomy 18 and Down Syndrome, and said that the only way to rule out any chromosome abnormality would be through amniocentesis.

I knew there was a higher risk of miscarriage associated with amniocentesis and so declined the test. My husband and I considered the child I carried as a gift from God, and we trusted that God would enable us to parent this little one well – no matter what the challenges – when the time came.

I won’t pretend we didn’t worry. The next 14 weeks of the pregnancy were emotionally and physically challenging; in addition to our concerns over the ultrasound’s findings, I also developed gestational diabetes, which necessitated injecting insulin several times a day. But my overwhelming recollection of that time is of being sustained by the belief that if God gave us a child with special needs, it was for a reason, and He would somehow enable us to meet those needs, whatever they might turn out to be.

The 32-week ultrasound revealed the cysts had disappeared. And we rejoiced.

Our healthy baby girl was born 8 weeks later. We named her Jenna.

I’ve seen many different meanings for her name, but the one I like best is “God’s grace.”

***

When ‘Why?’ falls silent …

“Such things come from God and from Him alone, and … before Him there can only be subjection, perseverance, patience – and gratitude. So every question ‘Why?’ falls silent, because it has found its answer.”

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer (writing in a letter to Hans von Dohnanyi, from Tegel prison, 1943

There have been seasons in my life when God has seemed very, very quiet. I have found such seasons difficult. Life feels dry, and faith plods. Spiritual disciplines become more about the discipline than the spiritual, a matter of going through the motions. The worst part of such periods is not knowing when they will end. Wondering if maybe this time – they won’t.

But there have also been times when I’ve seen God everywhere and in everything. Fool that I am – even such seasons as these are not without concern – for I find myself worrying that reveling in them too much might bring them to an end.

And then there are moments when God seems to intervene. Intervenes so obviously, so directly, it knocks the wind right out of me, leaving me breathless, gasping and on my knees, thankful for God’s mercy and grace.

Such was my experience today.

Our youngest, Jenna, was diagnosed with idiopathic adolescent scoliosis in the spring of 2010. Her first X-ray – in July of that year – revealed a curve of 19 degrees. Six months later, another X-ray indicated the curve had progressed to 25 degrees. At that point, our doctor referred her to the scoliosis specialists at Sick Kids hospital. It took until June, 2011 to get an appointment. By then, the X-rays revealed her curve had progressed to 35 degrees – but, they told us, Jenna had stopped growing so there was nothing that would be done.

Seeking another opinion, our doctor arranged for Jenna to be seen by the specialists at McMaster Children’s Hospital. They agreed with the conclusions of the doctors at Sick Kids, but arranged for Jenna to have an MRI to ensure there were no underlying medical conditions which might have caused the rapid progression of her curve. A follow-up appointment with a neurosurgeon assured us there were none – and the minor degeneration and bulging in a couple of her discs was no cause for serious concern, but the specialists said they would continue to track with Jenna for a while to ensure there was no further worsening of her condition.

Today was our first follow-up appointment. Jenna had another X-ray of her spine and then we went in to see the doctor.

“I have good news for you!” she said. “I’ve looked at this X-ray every which way and the only way I can read it is 23 degrees.”

My jaw dropped. Scoliosis doesn’t reverse itself. How was this possible?

“The only thing I can think of is that the June X-ray was wrong,” said the doctor. “We’ll bring Jenna back for one more appointment – six months from now – just to be sure this miracle is what it seems. If everything’s ok you won’t need to come again,” she concluded, offering me the Kleenex box.

This miracle.

We fairly floated out of the hospital. The curve labelled “moderate” in the fall is now considered “minor.”

This miracle.

It was only once Jenna and I were in the car that I told her that a dear friend of mine – named Jana (the woman for whom Jenna was named) had prayed for her this summer, in the wake of that 35-degree result. My friend is a woman of stronger faith than mine, and when she prayed that God would straighten out Jenna’s spine I remember thinking, “I love my friend and I’m grateful for her prayers, but I don’t think God works like that.”

I never mentioned Jana’s prayers to my daughter until today. “I didn’t think God worked like that,” I explained.

“Apparently, He does,” Jenna said.

Apparently, God does.

You can attribute this experience of ours today to a mistake or a miracle. I find I don’t need to give it a label. I don’t need to know “Why?”

I just need to give thanks.

***

Toward wholeness …

“Entropy means that everything in the world is in a state of decline and decay …” 

- Jane Fonda

My mirror tells me the truth of this universal law, every single day.

But when Jane Fonda spoke these words in a public talk recently, she went further. “There’s only one exception to this universal law,” she added, “and that is the human spirit, which can continue to evolve upwards, bringing us into wholeness, authenticity and wisdom.”

I liked that thought, because it speaks to my own desire to finish this life well, and it touches on my reasons for heading back to school.

And now, it’s official: I’m a student again. I had my orientation (last week), and attended my first class (last night). Both were – in a word – wonderful. Neither event proved to be anything out of the ordinary. It was just being able to participate in them that felt like such a gift.

I arrived at the orientation lunch a half-hour early. The enrollment counsellor – a young woman who helped me through the admission process and who, by now, feels like a friend – invited me to take a seat in the otherwise empty room. So I sat, stared at the blank PowerPoint screen while waiting for others to arrive and surprised myself when, alone in that empty room, my eyes spontaneously filled with tears. When a dream is a dream for a very long time, you run the risk of ceasing to believe that it is also, in fact, a goal that might actually be achievable. And when the dream starts to become real, well, it can all feel a bit surreal. Orientation day definitely held a sense of the surreal for me.

Last night, I drove to Hamilton early to avoid rush hour traffic. Before heading to class, I had dinner out with my mom. It was her treat, she said, a celebration. I loved our time together but found it hard to eat much, I was so filled with anticipation. Mom emailed me this morning. “I was trying to remember what your going back to university was like,” she wrote. “Then I remembered: it was like your first day at kindergarten.

“You were so excited. You had waited so long – watching all your friends toddle off. Because your birthday was in January you had to wait an extra year.”

She remembers that extra year of waiting for school to begin as being a hard one for me. “When your friends departed you were depressed. When you finally got to go to school, you were filled with happiness. You were beaming from ear to ear  - while others clung to to the railing, or to their mother’s skirts.

“Mothers are funny creatures. Like a typical woman I felt slightly guilty because you were so happy and independent.”

She needn’t have worried. I wasn’t happy because of what I was walking from – but because of what I was walking towards. It was finally my turn to learn. And now – more than four decades later, after watching my two oldest head off to university, I find to my great joy that it’s my turn to learn once again.

My first course is titled, “Ethics and Character.” I purchased the required text books before Christmas and read them over the holidays. And the rich experience of learning has already begun.

There’s a verse in the Gospel of Matthew I’ve never liked very much. It’s found in chapter 5, verse 48, and quotes Jesus as saying, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

“Oh, sure!” my inner cynic responds every time I read that verse. “Easy for you to say!”

But one of my text books, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus In Contemporary Context by Glen H. Stassen and David P. Gushee reveals it’s incorrect to assume Jesus is teaching “about idealistic moral perfection.” He’s not calling his followers to an impossible standard at all. The meaning that the word “perfect” is trying to convey is of being complete, whole, all-inclusive or all-embracing.

And those are things I can journey toward with gratitude and confidence.

***

When fact and dreaming meet

“Each man should frame life so that at some future hour fact and his dreaming meet.”  

- Victor Hugo

It’s been many months since I’ve posted here. They’ve been months of self-reflection and careful thought.

I recognize I’m in a new phase of life. Having left an all-consuming full-time job, and with my years of hands-on parenting rapidly approaching their end, I’ve taken the opportunity to evaluate where I’ve come from and where I might be headed.

I know; I’m very blessed to have been able to do so. Not everyone has the luxury to pause – at mid-life – and take stock. It’s been worthwhile; as I’ve considered what I’ve accomplished thus far in my life – as well as what I’ve failed to do – I realized there was at least one major dream unfulfilled: the desire to undertake further academic study.

I’ve thought about the possibility of pursuing theological study for several years, and actually went so far as to do one course – in a summer intensive – a few years ago. But the experience – while wonderful – also showed me the time wasn’t right to tackle the rigors of graduate school just yet.

But over the past number of months, I’ve considered and explored the possibility that, perhaps, now could be the right time.

And indeed, it seems to be. A couple of weeks ago, I received word I’ve been accepted into the M.T.S. (Master of Theological Studies) program at McMaster Divinity College. I begin part-time studies early in the new year. I am beyond excited. And what’s made my joy complete is the enthusiasm and support of my husband and our kids.

Around the time I received word of my acceptance, I learned I am not alone. It seems people of my generation are heading to seminary in unprecedented numbers.

I don’t know quite what to make of that reality. But I look forward to learning, and to sharing thoughts on what I learn, in the months ahead.

***

In limbo and liking it

Have you ever had a sense of being led somewhere, but you didn’t know quite where? You just knew that it was away from one thing, and towards another thing, even though that other thing hadn’t yet been revealed?

That’s where I am right now. It feels sort of like being “in limbo” – except with more contentment than I’ve ever experienced “in limbo” before.

Just over a month ago, I left a position of full-time employment because I knew my time there was done. Of course there were other reasons too, lots of other reasons. But mostly, I just knew I’d done what I was supposed to do in that place and in that role, and it was time to move on.

So I said good-bye to some great people – people I’d grown to care for deeply – and closed the door on work that in most respects I’d loved, and then I left.

I like to think I was being obedient to something or someone higher, outside of myself, leading me; but I can’t say for sure. Perhaps it was just my own nature making me unhappy and restless and needing to move on. Whatever the case, I’ve had no regrets about my decision. And for that, I am grateful. Regrets are nasty things.

Instead, I feel enormous gratitude. I believe God knows me well. And He knew I’d need to be kept busy in those first days and weeks after leaving that place of employment, and the weeks have been supremely busy.

I’ve had contract work enough to keep me going full time and then some. The projects have been stimulating, meaningful and challenging.

And as I’ve worked on those projects, I’ve put out a few feelers to see whether other full-time opportunities that presented themselves might be for me. So far – nothing has been. But now I’m starting to look ahead to the future and wonder what comes next. And honestly – I’m finding the wondering rather delicious.

This morning, I awoke early and took my coffee out into our little backyard. The birds were singing their morning melodies as I pulled a few weeds in the vegetable patch. I noticed tiny green tomatoes – full of promise – on the plants. A handful of the season’s first ripe, red raspberries yielded readily, almost dropping into my hand, and bursting into juicy goodness in my mouth. And when I sat with the stack of books I like to read from and meditate on whenever I’m seeking spiritual sustenance, a little red squirrel dashed across the lawn pausing just long enough to allow us both a moment of mutual contemplation.

After a year living at a pace that’s been far busier and more harried than I’m comfortable living at, that time in my backyard felt like an important reminder that it really is the simple things that bring the greatest joy, so it’s important to build time for the simple things into each and every day.

***

“Joy is not gush: joy is not jolliness. Joy is simply perfect acquiescence in God’s will, because the soul delights itself in God Himself.”

- Hanmer William Webb-Peploe

 

 

Of specks and planks

It’s been a difficult day. I had some interactions with a Canadian Christian leader who behaved in a manner that was disappointing; arrogant, completely lacking in any obvious humility, this person was the antithesis of what I expect from one who claims to follow Jesus.

Maybe my expectations are high. But shouldn’t they be? This person is responsible for leading other people and teaching them what it means to be a Christian. How can one teach what they don’t themselves practice?

Of course – I know there are lots that do.

But then, even as I type these words I feel the weight of conviction – for all the times I fail to meet up to the standards for thought, speech and action that I know I should – for all the times I don’t even try.

And so once again it comes back to this; even as I want to have a right to feel wounded and upset over how I’ve been slighted, I am reminded to stop looking at the speck in my neighbour’s eye, when there is a plank in my own.

And I find my sense of “righteous” indignation fading away.

***

“How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

- Luke 6:42

Taking time to play

“I don’t want the brightness to slowly leak out of me because I settled for the dulling effects of a life without play.”

-    Andi Ashworth

***

Craving some fun recently, I embarked on a course in Travel Writing. I’ve been absolutely LOVING it! My instructor, Olivia Stren, is a doll – supremely talented – and full of the sheer joy of living and encouragement for whatever bits of talent she sees in others. The opportunity to sit for a couple of hours each week and study the words of people who’ve mastered the written word – has been just exactly what I needed.

This week’s homework was to write a short “Service” piece; a sassy, playful article that describes a hotel, restaurant, etc. for the benefit of folks who might go there.

Desperately in need of some one-on-one time and a break from our routines, my husband and I this morning played hooky from church and sought out a new cafe or coffee shop that might serve a dual purpose, to provide a date for us and a source of inspiration for my most recent class assignment.

Here’s what resulted:

“A touch of le Bonheur”

Yearning for a taste of Paris, but can’t afford the airfare? Head to The Crepe Kitchen (88 Dunn Street, Oakville, Ontario www.thecrepekitchen.ca) where the crepes are reasonably priced ($7 to $14) and as délicieux as any you might sample in the City of Light.

The Kitchen is tiny – seats only 30 – but the atmosphere is inviting with whimsical charm; from the working cuckoo clock just inside the door to the mismatched, antique wooden furniture. Peruvian owner-operators Eduardo and Ana Siles literally “thank God” for making this place – and their dream of it – come true; living out their gratitude in warm hospitality and a willingness to share their story with anyone curious enough to ask.

Ana is a trained Cordon-Bleu chef, and the open kitchen permits guests to marvel at her skill with a flat spatula, folding a crepe over a broad choice of fillings either sweet (berries, Nutella or Dulce de leche – a thick, caramel cream adored by South Americans) or savoury (mushrooms, chorizo sausage, spinach or cheese). Coffee – an organic Peruvian blend – is served in a French Press allowing for second cups on indulgent Sunday mornings.

But if you visit on a Sunday, be forewarned: street parking is limited, as it fills with the cars of those seeking a different sort of sustenance – at the historic church across the road.

Persnickety parking aside, the ringing of the church bells and the Kitchen’s picture window – which offers an ideal opportunity for people watching – provide café patrons with a touch of le Bonheur, right here at home.

***

Moving day in Kingston

Even Mother Nature decided to celebrate moving day in Kingston.

I use the term “moving day” loosely. No one sent a memo. No official writ was dropped declaring Saturday April 30 as the day by which the entire city – or at least the entire student population of the city – must move. But move they all did, or rather, they all appeared to.

Throughout the area known affectionately by locals as “The Ghetto” (street after street of rundown houses with crumbling walkways, overgrown shrubs and crooked porches that surround the Queen’s University campus) every available parking spot – and then some – was occupied by vans or trucks or cars towing open box trailers.

Longhaired girls in short shorts and flip-flops, flip-flopped their way down sidewalks two-by-two, under burdens of tables and mattresses. Boys dressed in jeans and t-shirts flexed biceps while hoisting desks and bookshelves into U-Hauls. And middle-aged parents with put-on patience helped transport sons and daughters out of one phase of life and into another.

We were moving our oldest daughter out of her third-year abode – with its four roommates and more drama than our Drama major cared to endure – and into her final year home – with its one roommate and promise of peace.

And throughout it all, the sun shone and the air warmed and the birds sang and the sky turned the most beautiful shade of robin’s egg blue, delivering the first really spring-like day since spring had arrived more than a month earlier. It was as if the weather itself had chosen to cooperate, foretelling the brightest of futures.

***

“Celebrate endings – for they precede new beginnings.”
- Jonathan Lockwood Huie

***

“Empty … Needing to be filled.”

Sitting in church this morning, waiting for service to begin, my husband turned to me and whispered in a searching sort of way, “You look sad.”

“Do I?” His statement gave me pause to examine my own thoughts. “I’m not sad. Just empty, I think. Needing to be filled.”

That’s how it is with me and church. Again and again I go, like countless others the world over.

Sometimes, I admit, I go reluctantly. At the end of one busy week and the beginning of another it can be tempting to claim those Sunday morning hours for other priorities. It can feel – at times – like a frivolous luxury to submit time to the practice of “being still and knowing.”

But it’s not a luxury. It’s a necessity.

I remember clearly a conversation I had decades ago with a cameraman named Ray. We were colleagues, travelling together to a shoot somewhere, and as we drove, he asked me about God. When I told him what my faith meant to me, he responded that he thought all faith “a crutch,” and he neither needed nor wanted a crutch in his life.

I felt ashamed then. Somehow his statement seemed more like an accusation, like something I should have a good answer for. I didn’t.

But if I were to meet Ray today, I’d tell him this: my faith is a crutch. It’s a crutch I need to lean on every single day. I wouldn’t want to go through life without it.

And that’s what keeps me going back to church. For often, in the quiet moments before the service starts – or within the first few minutes of worshipping – I’m struck by an awareness of my great need. My need for God, for His help or comfort, His strength or peace or presence, for boldness or love, for forgiveness or guidance or courage or wisdom. It’s like a hunger that’s crying out to be fed, an emptiness longing to be filled.

So it was this morning. And as the service progressed, and I focussed my mind on worship, the hunger pangs subsided and my spirit felt renewed.

After service, I visited with a couple of other people in our little church family only to learn of battles that they are fighting in their day-to-day lives. And I realized I’m in good company on Sunday mornings, for I’m not alone in my need.

In fact the entire global Church is probably composed primarily of spiritually hungry people who recognize their great need to be filled with God’s grace and mercy and strength. Over and over again.

***

“Jesus said to them, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.’”

- Mark 2:17

 

Of daughters and delights …

It’s been a season of intense busyness and I admit I’ve found the past few months both emotionally and spiritually challenging. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in 50 years on the planet, it’s that it’s often the most significant challenges in life that lead to the greatest growth in character – and to new depths of understanding of the goodness of God.

That’s certainly been true for me in recent weeks.

But in the midst of the challenges, there have still been delights. One of the most delightful: my eldest daughter Stephanie has given me yet one more reason to feel proud of her. She’s begun a blog with a friend – called Cooking With Tea – that combines some of her favourite interests: her love of good food, exotic teas and whimsical words.

Stop by, pay them a visit, then consider liking Cooking With Tea on Facebook! You’ll gain access to wonderful original new recipes, illustrated with beautiful photographs, and have a place to interact with and encourage a brand new Canadian blogger!

***

Little tastes of home

I’m planning to pay a brief visit to our son, Mark, tomorrow. He’s living and studying at a university campus about an hour’s drive from home; so it’s close enough to personally deliver the occasional care package.

Mark is mad for bananas, always has been. During his high school years, he could easily polish off four or five as an after school snack. So it’s not surprising that of all the muffins I make (and I seem to make a lot of muffins), banana chocolate chip are his favourite.

Knowing I’m going to see him tomorrow, I thought I’d take a batch along. This is a recipe I got from my sister, and the only modification I make is that I usually substitute whole wheat flour for the all purpose variety. They’re fast and simple and make a tasty snack or a nutritious treat for a breakfast.

Here’s how to make them:

Banana Chocolate Chip Muffins

Ingredients:

1 3/4 c. flour

1/2 c. sugar

3 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. salt

1/2 c. chocolate chips

1 egg

1/4 c. oil

1/4 c. milk

3 medium bananas, mashed

Method:

Place first five ingredients into a large bowl. Mix thoroughly, then make a well in the centre.

 

Beat egg until frothy. Mix in oil, milk and mashed bananas. (I like to just throw the oil, egg, milk and banana into my mini-blender and blend.) Pour mixture into dry ingredient well. Stir only to moisten. (Batter will be lumpy.) Fill greased muffin tins 3/4 full. Bake in a 400 degree oven for 20 – 25 minutes.

 

Yield: 12 – 14 little tastes of home!

 

***

 

Inspiration

“My disclaimer.” That’s what I called it. For years it hung in our front hall, in a place of prominence, where anyone who entered our home would see it. It hung over a long wooden shelf with hooks – that my father had made for us – the place where my husband and I would toss our keys or the mail, and the kids would hang their coats and backpacks.

I stitched it – when our oldest, Stephanie, was only two and our second, Mark, was just a baby – from a cross-stitch kit, as a creative diversion. But mostly, I stitched it because I loved the words. They read:

Some houses try to hide the fact that children shelter there.

Ours boasts of it quite openly; the signs are everywhere.

For smears are on the windows, little smudges on the doors.

I should apologize, I guess, for toys strewn on the floor.

But I sat down with the children and we played and laughed and read.

And if the doorbell doesn’t shine, their eyes will shine instead.

For when at times I’m forced to choose the one job or the other,

I want to be a homemaker. But first, I’ll be a mother.

 

All under the heading:

It served as an excellent reminder for me during those “growing-up-years” of what I wanted my priorities to be. I had friends and neighbours who were much better housekeepers, and at times I’d find myself succumbing to the peer pressure of their immaculate standards. But I was never able to figure out how to keep a spotless home without completely stressing out my family, so I’d keep those feelings at bay by reading my disclaimer.

I’ve read those words so often I doubt I’ll ever forget them.

But there is a time for everything. And two years ago, after we repainted our front hall, I knew my disclaimer’s time had come. It had served its purpose. My children were no longer small – in fact they were teenagers – and to imply that I’d only recently “sat down” with them and “played and laughed and read,” would be not just inaccurate but dishonest.

So I packed the stitchery away thinking that perhaps one of my daughters might want it some day, and I began to think about what should take its place on the wall in the hall above the shelf.

That space remained empty for more than a year. Inspiration is not easily found or replaced, and I knew I wanted something that would be just as affecting for my family’s next stage of life. But what would fit a family home that now regularly experiences more arrivals and departures than Grand Central Station?

Last summer, I found it. Covered in dust, high up on a wall in a small bookstore, I read the words of promise and blessing engraved on this wooden plaque:

“Journey” it says. And then, this verse from Psalm 121:8, “The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”

Perfect.

 

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Of life lessons and gifts given …

I admit I didn’t want to write it; two days before Christmas, and a million other things to do.

I admit that writing it was a struggle; I wrestled over what I had to say for a day and a half, and then finally wrote it in the wee hours of the morning on December 23, when sleep eluded me.

I admit that I finally wrote it out of nothing more than a grudging awareness of the need to be obedient.

And you know what? I learned a lesson.

This piece, headlined “The nice road to Santa and the difficult path to Christ” was published over at the Holy Post, the religion blog of the National Post newspaper, December 23. The editor there wrote me on the morning of December 24 to say that it had gone to number one – not just on the blog – but up against every other story on the newspaper’s web site for that day.

Sometimes, lessons are hard learned.

And sometimes, God teaches us lessons, and then gives us a gift.

This lesson came with a gift. And I am grateful.

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