This is Hard - A Letter to My Husband**

So here we are, in year three of our marriage, with a one year old and a 'house on a piece of land.' 

It was 4:19am when I woke up yesterday to turn on the heat in our holiday trailer that we have been living in since June 1. We had collapsed into bed at midnight after shoving insulation into the joists of our upstairs attic-I have the bruises on my forearms to prove it. Last night we talked heat exchangers and circulating pumps and did our dishes and cleaned up instead of installing insulation so that when I leave this morning for my new part-time job, you will have enough space in our little trailer to care for our little girl. 

Every once in awhile you say you're exhausted, beat, burned out. Every once in a MORE whiles you listen to me complain and cry. 

This is hard.

We chose this. We love this. I am learning SO much by taking a bare piece of land and making it livable. We are pioneers of a different sort. When all is said and done we will have a relatively tiny mortgage in this uncertain economy because we are choosing to do the work ourselves....while asking others to join us as they are able. I used to keep track of how many bags of demo we took out of the house; I should start with how many hours of babysitting dear friends and family have provided. 

This is hard.

These seasons of life that we have been through my Farm Boy; the falling in love and the staying in love. Staying in love when I was adapting to life in our town; away from all the familiar. You held me then while I cried. During those sleepless nights with our little one; you held me then too while I cried-or held her so I could stop crying and sleep. Now when I measure something wrong or am just plain weary of measuring, lifting, cutting, hammering, scraping, mudding and taping (didn't take me long to weary of that); you still hold me and we both say...this is hard.

And then we laugh. We laugh at our daughter who is absolute Gift to us. We laugh at ourselves and happy dance after installing kick-a** hardwood flooring. We laugh as we fill a borrowed dump trailer with absolutely everything on a supply run to the city. We celebrate the generosity of certified and credentialed friends who provide advice and feedback; phone call after phone call. 

 

We laugh. We cry. We hope. We pray. We trust. And we build. We build this marriage, this family, this life-one hard and happy experience at a time. 

So dear husband; I'll say it again today-there's no where else I'd rather be. I am so proud of you and us. We're doing this! 

**Thank you to my friend Rachael for her permission to borrow the format, style and even title of this blogpost from her recent one. Please read hers at: The Good Wife

All I Need Are Some Apple Trees

 When Brian and I first met, it didn’t take long for us to develop a pattern in our long-distance communication. It would start with a text in the morning, ‘Good Morning Beautiful’ and then finish with a video chat or phone call that always included Brian playing some of his favorite Country songs and how they related to his life and faith. It didn’t take long for him to find his favorite for me - ”Hey Pretty Girl” by Kip Moore.

It also didn’t take long for Brian to win my heart, pop the question and produce a ring. In short order we set a date, booked a honeymoon and then 3 months into this new mystery called marriage; found ourselves with the opportunity to become parents. Our little amazing girl with bright blue eyes arrived 7 days shy of our first anniversary. During her percolation period, we also started the process of purchasing a little home, securing financing, and creating budgets for septic and water systems, solar power, hardwood flooring, drywall, and the list goes on!

Today, the home finally arrived on our screw pile foundation! Right in the middle of our hay field! Today I am learning yet again about a new phrase that has entered my life since being introduced to Brian; ‘make hay while the sun shines.’ This fall I realized practically what this means – it means watching the clouds and horizon every morning to see what the day may hold. It means consulting weather apps for the odds of rain. It means turning to my husband to see his expression…yup, today is a day for hay.

Make the most of every opportunity, get while the getting’s good, Carpe Diem – seize the day. John Heywood first records this proverb of ‘doing something while the situation and conditions are right’ in 1546:

When the sunne shinth make hay. Whiche is to say. Take time when time cometh, lest time steale away.

My life the last 24 months has felt like a ‘make hay’ kind of season; dating and marriage, new job, new community, new baby, new house, new everything. It could seem risky and irresponsible to some; throwing caution to the wind for others. Or it could be about taking a good long look at the horizon, turning one’s face to the sun and trusting that ‘today is a good day to make hay.’

Kip Moore did a good job of predicting this haymaking journey. According to him, now all I need are some apple trees!

Hey Pretty Girl

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7gjwS13smI

Hey pretty girl, won't you look my way

Loves in the air tonight.

You can bet you'll make this ol' boy's day

Hey pretty girl, won't you look my way.

Hey pretty girl, can I have this dance

And the next one after that?

Gonna make you mine there's a real good chance,

Hey pretty girl, can I have this dance.

Hey pretty girl, it feels so right

Just like it's meant to be.

All wrapped up in my arms so tight,

Hey pretty girl, it feels so right.

Life's a long and winding ride

Better have the right one by your side.

And happiness don't drag its feet

Time moves faster than you think.

Hey pretty girl, I wanna take you home

My momma's gonna love you.

She'll make me sleep on the couch, I know.

But hey pretty girl, I wanna take you home.

Hey pretty girl, lets build some dreams

And a house on a piece of land.

We'll plant some roots and some apple trees

Hey pretty girl, lets build some dreams.

Life's a long and winding ride

Better have the right one by your side.

Happiness don't drag its feet

And time moves faster than you think.

Hey pretty girl, you did so good

Our baby's got your eyes.

And a fighter’s heart like I knew she would.

Hey pretty girl, you did so good.

Hey pretty girl when I see the light

And it's my time to go,

I'm gonna thank the Lord for a real good life

A pretty little girl and a beautiful wife.

Living With An Open Hand

In the past few months, as winter has continued to bear down on Bonnyville, Alberta I have become a little house hermit seeking warmth and comfort - and have succumbed to the experience of assorted Star Trek reruns with my new husband. Gah! I’m admitting publicly for the first time; I am actually enjoying them.

While the opening narrative of this franchise of shows has been edited over the years, the heart of the matter has remained. “Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five year mission; to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.”

When Brian and I first met, it didn’t take us long to realize something remarkable was happening and this ‘something remarkable’ quickly opened into love and then marriage and yes…as is now public knowledge…a soon-to-be baby carriage. We were and are boldly going where neither one of us has before.

At some point on this journey, we discovered the language of ‘living with an open hand.’ We believe it started from my experiences with my contemplative prayer class, ‘Living from the Heart.’ It has since carried over into our daily life and has even been used by a pastor-friend in our post-marriage spiritual direction.

What does ‘living with an open hand’ mean to me? Not unlike the mission and mandate of the assorted Star Trek crews, there is an element of mystery, unknown, discovery, expectation, hope and…trust.

I may not be in a fancy, warp-speed space travel vehicle exploring new star systems but I am experiencing some cultural transitions involving new life forms, styles of communication and associated risks.

Living with an open hand is a very physical, tactile form of prayer for me. It’s a posture of trust and surrender. It’s risky and unfamiliar because I am more used to a clenched fist surrounding my values and wants. Control has been the more familiar path in my life, or perhaps better understood as the illusion of control – including control of circumstances and others.

Living with an open hand is an act of release, an act of freedom. It is living with arms wide open, experiencing without a shadow of a doubt the goodness and perseverance of Love - of God. In the midst of uncertainty, pain, sorrow, confusion, delight, amazement, ordinariness, fear and wonderment.

A quote from author Jeff Imbach, in a little photo frame in our bathroom, reads “choice becomes a real possibility when longing is accepted and fulfillment is celebrated but not demanded. This is the place of freedom.”

Living with an open hand means less demanding and more accepting. It means I sit with the honest truths of my wants and desires, I acknowledge the goodness of their arrival/completion/fulfillment and I open my hands in celebration of the unknown future. This is a paradigm shift. I don’t run and hide from the unknown, I dance party it up with the unknown! This experience is revealing to me all the ‘what ifs’ that often crowd my mind, my words and my behavior instead of the ‘what is.’

To be a starship Captain, the ‘what is’ of the mission is the motivating factor, not all the unknown ‘what ifs.’ The choice to explore and discover; to risk and to leap; to hope yet again is ever present and ever opportune. So, just for today, I sit back in my chair, I breathe deep and I say, ‘Engage!’

*photo credit to Robb Penner, hands of little Lucy Ireland, his daughter.

The Peace of Wild Things

I have just returned ‘home’ from a weekend visit ‘home.’ I have been in search of what ‘home’ means to me now, this last month, in light of new marriage, new house, new community, new family, new name, new job, and new path.

My visit back to the familiar ‘home,’ from this place of newness, was very life giving. Familiar family, friends, roads, stores, community, and conversations.

The return to the new ‘home’ was also incredibly life giving. There is no competition running, no helpful or necessary comparison; pro and con lists fall by the wayside. New and familiar both have their place. Both have their beauty.

One moment of beauty was this morning as I watched two great white birds, slowly and certainly; make their way across the waters of Moose Lake, the shore on which my new house is situated. I would like to think they were herons although with my limited knowledge (and eyesight) they could have been snow geese or pelicans.

The reason I want to suggest herons is because of the following poem by Wendell Berry that was offered by a familiar friend this past weekend, amidst conversation of life, love and other mysteries. Did I lay my eyes on the great heron - I will allow a wishful indulgence in timely coincidence and dare to say 'maybe...just maybe.' 

In all of my defining of ‘home’ and in all of my transitionary experiences, where beauty abounds, I offer this poem as a glimpse into my soul, my heart and my mind…the peace of wild things.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.   

Ode to Marriage and Football...

Marriage.
Mystery.
Two becoming one.
Partners. Completion. Companions.
Am I a cheerleader? 
I am a teammate.
I am a participant. 
I'm on the field.
I'm in the game. 
The starting whistle is coming. 
The first kick off is arriving. 
The scoreboard is ready to honor the victories.
The fans are filling the stands.
I put on my jersey, my colors, my loyalty.
I perform my warm-up stretches and passes. 
I breathe.
I kneel to pray in centre field; arm in arm with my teammate. 
Our Coach is with us too. 
Our Coach has the playbook. 
Our Coach makes the calls; giving us guidance, hope, encouragement and direction.
Our Coach. 
Our team. 
Our time.
For such a time as this. 
Players to the field.
Huddle up. 
It is time. 
Game on. 

Ecclesiastes 3:1
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven...."

Breaking The Barrier: In Search Of Meaning In Mess

“There is nothing so secular that it cannot be sacred, and that is one of the deepest messages of the Incarnation.” – Madeleine L’Engle

    

One of my favorite memories of my time serving people with disabilities at L’Arche Calgary was, of all things, the personal care moments with my friend ‘Daisy.’ How many times did we share in the bathroom, chatting about the day and laughing at the absurdity of what ‘personal care’ actually entails. Giggling while plugging our noses and refilling, yet again, the toilet paper roll. Multiple side effects of various medications, supplements to help with limited muscle activity and a robust daily menu, all helped to create unique and often unhurried experiences. And yet, these times of waiting frequently created pockets of absolutely delightful conversation and dare I say even ‘sacred moments.’ These were times of beauty amidst a lot of mess!

A YouTube video, made two years ago, entitled ‘Breaking the Barrier’ has been resurfacing on Facebook. I don’t necessarily recommend it for the faint of heart but suffice it to say that if you want to hear how one couple developed boundaries (or lack thereof) around daily personal moments, it definitely creates conversation around what is or isn’t appropriate behavior. Wow. What a loaded question, what IS appropriate behavior these days? 

I have a little two-year-old niece I’ve mentioned before, named Norah. Recently, I was hosting her, along with her two older brothers and younger baby sister for an afternoon. It was busy. Active. Not quite chaos. I needed a personal moment and asked if the other kids would keep an eye on the baby. As soon as I asked for help, Norah jumped up and ran to the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat for me saying ‘here you go Chistee,’ and then ran back to play with her little sister. This act of hospitality and service melted my heart. Somewhere, in her little experience thus far, she had determined that this was appropriate behavior, to help others when asked – yes, take care of the baby and yes – take care of me.

It was this little act of supporting my personal care that got me thinking of another ‘breaking the barrier’ moment in life - as it relates to this Easter weekend. A creator-sustainer-provider-redeemer-God ‘broke the barrier,’ entered a little messed up world and chose to ‘lift the toilet seat’ of human experience to bring meaning and hope. The choice of behavior for this God was a harsh and bloody death on a cross. Messy. Lowly. And yet this death somehow, mysteriously, Christians believe, brings about life and life to the fullest. How appropriate is this behavior? Is this how I’d chose - in my limited knowledge of redemptive practices?

How great that in the deep need of daily experience, I am finding a God who delights to serve. Sacrificially. Personally. At the risk of being misunderstood and mocked. This God breaks a barrier again this Easter and says ‘It is finished.’ Not in the likeliest or perhaps most ‘appropriate’ of ways but in the most hopeful. Jesus on a cross. In a grave. And then…in a garden; victorious over death. Breaking the final barrier and offering freedom, love, hope - amidst mess. Not in spite of it but through it. Meaning in the mess. Amen. 

Falling in LOVE

On December 29^th, after our fourth date and Brian’s return home to Bonnyville, I had time to share some of this new dating experience with my brother Robb and his wife Melissa. Robb read this little Celtic prayer for me. I was more than a little freaked out seeing as how it used the word LOVE. Robb was very cool to suggest that I substitute in whatever language I might need, to have it be a present experience and a future reality. 

On January 4^th Brian took a risk and used the “L” word on the phone, I took a risk of my own by trying not to freak out and so I shared this prayer with him. Our story then started in on yet another new chapter entitled “How long until Christy returns the “L” word?” It didn’t take as long as I thought and I give this prayer partial credit!

Enjoy, adapt and ponder….

Celtic Blessing for Falling in Love

"Bless this thing that sparks like lightening

That burns like fire

That radiates like the inside of the first moment of the cosmos

In this awakening love may there always be

courtesy and respect

trust and courage

tenderness and truth.

Take from it all that destroys and is willful

Give to it all that lasts and is selfless

That the one may wither and the other may grow strong

And shine forever.

God bless this one whom I feel such love for.

May I never cheapen this love

May I never use the other just to gratify my appetites

May I always be there for the other

May this love be like a flower that slowly opens up to reveal its full beauty

May I offer my beloved a heart of valor, restraint, and service."

(Celtic Blessings: Prayers for Everyday Life--Compiled by Ray Simpson, 1999)

Hey Pretty Girl

“Life's a long and winding ride, better have the right one by your side.

And happiness don't drag its feet, time moves faster than you think.”

- Hey Pretty Girl lyrics by Kip Moore.

So, apparently I’m growing in my appreciation of Country music. Thanks to a farmer from Bonnyville. Now. Just to clarify. It’s not that I necessarily ENJOY country music, but I DO enjoy this amazing journey with a man named Brian Phillip Hesson. So. I have listened to this 42, never been married, farmer/welder/paintball field owner/high school football coach, uncle to 15, spin me tunes every night since our first phone call. And boy, are there some gooders.

I first learned of his spirituality through “The River” by Garth Brooks. I learned of his perspective on vows and marriage through “I Do” by Paul Brandt and “True Believers” by Darius Rucker. He shared about his relationship with his dad through “A Father’s Love” by High Valley. I learned about his thoughts on having children thanks to Gord Bamford’s “My Daughter’s Father” and Rodney Atkins’ “Watching You.” I learned of his thoughts about me in relation to his past through “The Broken Road” by Rascal Flats and another by Garth, “Unanswered Prayers.” I learned about his present joys and future hopes with Blake Shelton’s “God Gave Me You;” Kip Moore’s “Hey Pretty Girl;” and Deric Ruttan’s “That’s How I Wanna Go Out.”  

I hear about songs which make him think of me, fight for me, smile with me, and shed a tear for me. Aaron Lines’ “Close” and “You Can’t Hide Beautiful;” Brad Paisley’s “She’s Everything;” Keith Urban’s “Put You in a Song;” Tim McGraw’s “It’s Your Love” and “Don’t Take the Girl;” Uncle Kracker’s “Smile;” Lonestar’s “I’m Already There;” and Rascal Flatts’ “I Won’t Let Go.”

The song that I request most often these days, as it relates to how I feel about him and our experience together thus far (timing of all this craziness and my experience of the love of God through him) is Paul Brandt’s “When You Call My Name.”

Yup. I guess I’m kinda getting into country music. Five bucks says I’ll be listening to it for the rest of my life. I have a ring on my finger that says so. First phone call on November 22. First date on December 22. First kiss on December 28. First proposal on January 28. First wedding – this summer sometime. First home in Bonnyville – after the honeymoon sometime. WOW. How many first’s can one girl handle in a year? Only the good Lord knows that! SURELY there’s a country song about that! 

Be Yourself

Be yourself. Be yourself. Be yourself. This simple phrase about living authentically has been echoing in and around the hallways of my life journey these last months. As I read certain authors, participate in prayer classes, converse with friends, old and new alike, and sit in contemplative silence late at night, I hear these words…be yourself. Be Christy Joyce Penner. Be you. Not your vocation, your reputation, your image, your writing, your persona. Neither your successes or failures; your insecurities or victories; your dashed hopes or new dreams. Be yourself. Who you are is…enough. Be yourself.

I have a friend, Cam, who has been struggling with his health for over two years now, all sorts of symptoms and experiences that have been baffling his ‘Dr. House-esque’ diagnostic doctor. They have finally landed on a condition that may explain the majority of his symptoms and the treatment, over a course of time, may provide healing and restoration. The condition is called ‘hemochromatosis’ and involves ridiculously high levels of iron and ferritin in his blood which build up in his organs and can cause scarring and all sorts of other high-risk complications. His treatment? Phlebotomy. In the Greek this means ‘to cut a vein,' which Cam prefers to label as ‘bloodletting.’ Cam now joins the statistics club of ‘The 1 in 200’ with this particular genetic condition. His current treatment program involves losing a litre of blood a week. As his iron and ferritin levels start to stabilize, the bloodletting will be less frequent and his blood will become usable for Canadian Blood Services.

My friend Cam is in the process of becoming a ‘mandated blood donor for life.’ His regular donating will become the healing for others. By being himself, he will be providing healing for others. What he himself needs for healing and restoration will become restorative for others. Just by being himself. Literally by giving of himself, his very own blood.

Be yourself. What a novel thought. What if the process of becoming yourself, becoming more ‘fully human,’ (and in Cam’s case, more fully healthy) became the means of grace, not only for yourself but also for all those around you? What if the giving of yourself, as you are, became the means of restoration and hope for another? Could your relationships and encounters become a doorway into an encounter with healing, with even the Divine? Could life be more about ‘being’ than ‘doing?’ I suppose even Jesus might have a few thoughts on the matter. Aha! How does that verse from the book of Hebrews go? “Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” No hope. No healing. True? Is this really the process?  

At this stage, after 4 treatments, Cam is choosing to trust the process. At this stage, at the age of 37, I am also choosing to trust the process. Bloodletting. Healing. Being. 

Life is Breaking Out

Here we are on the precipice of tomorrow. The start of a new year. The night we look behind to all that has been and the celebration of all that is to come. We mourn. We celebrate. We wonder. The season of Epiphany is approaching. The child has been born, the Son has been given. The gifts are arriving. The hope is growing. Can it be true? Is there one who can save us? One who can help make sense of our little worlds and our not so little battles, disappointments, misunderstandings, fears, confusions, betrayals and broken dreams? Is there one who can hold all these little worlds ‘in the palm of His hand?’

I recently finished a book by Jeff Imbach called The Recovery of Love. He unpacks four Christian mystics of the 14^th century, sharing their stories and their lives - their little worlds. In his last few pages reflecting on Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Imbach challenges his readers on their passions and desires, their deep-seated hopes and dreams; their longings. He dares to say that there is a healthy, divine, sacred way to embrace our longings. A way that leads to transformation. Is there one who can save us? Is freedom possible?

Hear some words from Imbach, “Passion is, in it’s essence, the bubbling up of Divine Love at the centre of our being…accepting the passion unconditionally faces one with the reality of choice…choice becomes a real possibility when longing is accepted and fulfillment is celebrated but not demanded. This is the place of freedom, the place where ‘all things are yours.’”

What are you and I longing for? What passion is waiting to break out? What life, healing, longing, hope, dream, desire, ache, or gift is on the precipice? Is it possible to hold it with an open hand? To celebrate the potential but not demand it? To acknowledge the goodness, the sweetness, the opportunity and yet not crush it?

One of my favorite podcasts is from Relevant magazine. They introduced their ‘Best of 2012’ podcast this week with a song from Gungor called ‘Dry Bones.’ I offer these lyrics as a reflection on the Christmas season that has passed and all the epiphanies of the New Year that are to come. Is there one who can save us?

Here’s a YouTube link if you’d like to listen while reading: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJWHZnZ9E6k

My soul cries out

My soul cries out for you

These bones cry out

These dry bones cry for you

To live and move

'Cause only You can raise the dead

Can lift my head up

Jesus, You're the one who saves us

Constantly creates us into something new

Jesus, surely you will find us

Surely our Messiah will make all things new

Will make all things new

Life is breaking out, it's breaking out

Life is breaking out, it's breaking out, it's breaking out

Short Commentary on Dance, Life and Love

“Dance is the hidden language of the soul” – Martha Graham.

So, it’s official, I am addicted to partner dancing. Once I got settled into my new home in Okotoks, I decided to make a choice between a course in self-defense kick-boxing or Latin partner dance. Talk about choosing a path previously less traveled and having it make ‘all the difference!’ I’m starting to think my hips might be more dangerous than the high knee kicks would have been!

What fun! What joyous delight! First off – the growing confidence I am finding to walk into a large group of strangers and attempt to learn something absolutely brand-new and foreign to me. To just take a risk and give a try – we are capable of more than we think we are! That’s the theory that took me around the world years ago to hang with Mother Teresa’s sisters on the streets of Calcutta, India. It’s what landed me in England for a year writing a Master’s that I thought was way beyond me. It’s what caused me to take up an apron and join a team at a little bible camp with a vision, and yes, it’s what’s causing me to find cute dancing shoes and train lower back muscles!

Author Richard Rohr shares a mantra of how in life; somehow, with the trust and love of God - ’everything belongs.’ It just so happens that as I embark on these dance classes, I am also embarking on a course I’ve mentioned before called “Living From the Heart” which delves into contemplative Christian spirituality. I’ve written about the great, mysterious, cosmic, all-consuming Dance before, the one all of humanity is invited to enter into with the Triune God of Love, but boy…it’s one thing to write about it and another thing to experience it.

There is an overlap between the physicality of learning dance and what I'm labelling the ‘active passivity’ of experiencing Love, even in the midst of uncertain times and while holding ‘with an open hand’ the lives and experiences of others. I am bolding declaring to be a living witness to Rohr’s mantra, ‘everything belongs.’ I testify! I celebrate! I am grateful!

As I continue the journey of discovering what’s around my next vocational and relational corners (Oh yes, I’m on the market in more ways than one – and I’m still open to leads) and as I continue the Dance, I offer these words from Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. I would welcome your comments and thoughts. Peace.

“God is not always silent, and man is not always blind. In every man’s life there are moments when there is a lifting of the veil at the horizon of the known, opening a sight of the eternal. Each of us has at least once in his life experienced the momentous reality of God. Each of us has once caught a glimpse of the beauty, peace, and power that flow through the souls of those who are devoted to Him. But such experiences are rare events. To some people they are like shooting stars, passing and unremembered. In others they kindle a light that is never quenched. The remembrance of that experience and the loyalty to the response of that moment are the forces that sustain our faith.”

What once was LOST now is FOUND

I am in the few mere days leading up to my first ‘Living From the Heart’ class, being presented by Soul Streams and hosted this weekend at King’s Fold Retreat Centre. I am greatly looking forward to reacquainting myself with a place that I have fond memories of and great expectations for ‘meeting with God.’

The required readings involve delving into some intense conversation about ‘surrendering to the love of God.’ Concrete and profound images of the love of God are sometimes hard to find in my daily life and so I have been pleasantly (if not brokenly) accosted by two personified images that both come from a dear child in my life, my little almost two-year old niece, Norah. Both happened in the span of a few hours this past Saturday, as our family celebrated the birthday of her mom.

Upon arrival to my new home in Okotoks, Norah ran across the street towards me as soon as her little feet hit the ground out of the family van. She was running literally ‘head-first,’ leaning forward at the risk of falling and tripping in her eagerness to get to me and my waiting arms. Her arms were open, her smile was bright, her little pigtails were bobbing and the utter delight and abandon that accompanied this great reception did not go unnoticed by her parents or myself. She was absolutely convinced of my acceptance of her. She was totally confident of my ability to catch her as she flung herself into my arms. She was utterly selfless in her affection for me.

Of all the times I’ve reflected on and pondered the story Jesus tells of the prodigal son and his faithful father, this was maybe the first time the roles of the two converged in my own life. In Norah I saw the faithful and abiding love of the father and the desperately seeking and hopeful posture of the son. I felt the abandon and absolute ‘surrender to love’ that erases all fear and showers unconditional acceptance upon the receiver. I was loved. She was love and beloved.

After a time of fun and food, her mom and I remained in the home to prepare dessert, while the rest of the family, including six kids, left for the playground, across the same street Norah had previously traversed. They enjoyed their visit involving swing sets and monkey bars and safely returned to the home. Well, almost all of them. A brief moment later it was discovered that Norah was missing. Absolute desperation gripped me. Norah was missing. She wasn’t where she belonged. 

I flew up the stairs to the yard. I ran through the gate. I had a fleeting thought of the dessert chocolate potentially burning on the stove. ‘Damn the chocolate’ was my noble thought. ‘Heaven help us’ was my prayer. As I turned the corner, I saw a group of adults across the street; they were my intended destination. Instead, as I turned the corner, here was Norah at the front door, coming down the steps with a kind, brilliantly blonde teenage girl at her side. My run slowed to a walk, now was not the time for dramatics. I lifted up this little girl and the little doll she was dragging beside her. She melted into my shoulder. I asked the teenage girl, Nicole, for the story and offered my deepest thanks, I must have asked for her name a dozen times. I couldn’t stop looking at her brilliant blonde hair, slightly angelic if you ask me. I then returned to my home to give Norah back to her mom and dad and pass the story along. What once was lost now was found.   

Again, it was a time of rediscovering the depth and character of divine love as revealed in another of Jesus’ stories. This time, the story of the shepherd that has the ninety-nine sheep on the hills and goes looking for the lost one. There is just no other option. I get it now. Of course the shepherd couldn’t do anything except go; and go quickly and fervently. And with absolute abandon. Not with disregard for anyone else. Just as my care for the remaining family in the home did not decrease, it was the desire for the lost one that increased. Rapidly. Exponentially. Because this was the one that was not safe, was not found. I literally knew I would not stop until she was found. I would give all to find her. I would hunt, ask for help, look like a fool and beg the God above until she was back where she belonged. And then the celebrating could begin.

What once was lost now was found. And I am slowly discovering this love that is spoken of and given by Jesus. Not just in a story. But in our ordinary, everyday lives. Maybe even today.  

(Stories and photo used with permission from Norah’s parents)

Saying Hello and Goodbye

John Ortberg ruined me the day he wrote the title of his book ‘If You Want To Walk On Water, You’ve Got To Get Out Of The Boat.’ I first encountered this quick read when I took one of my (at the time) bi-annual visits to King’s Fold Retreat Centre for a solitary fasting retreat back in 2002. I was home from my travels in India, supporting a delightful lady with disabilities in her home and starting my first leadership experience with the Alpha course. There was possibility in the air and a deep desire to be used, to be found faithful and to experience something beyond the norm – basically I wanted to know and be know by the Divine – the Other-Than, the Great-Than. 

So. I took Ortberg’s challenge to pray for one particular thing every day for 6 months and see what happened. In his book, he said he would refund your money if you prayed for 6 months about one particular thing and nothing happened. He said to write him and tell him what happened and if nothing happened, watch in the mail. SO. I prayed. And 6 months later I wrote him a letter of the profound experiences and generous delights the Lord gave during that 6 month season – no refund on the book for me!

I’m no sailor or fisherman, nor do I have the remote chance of maintaining balance in a precarious boat. But I do know what it’s like to get out of one…to be acknowledged by name by The One Who Loves Fully, to be challenged to faith and not fear and….yet, to fall into the deep waters of divided, anxious focus only to be grabbed and saved and restored.

I kinda thought that once I got out of the boat I’d never get back in or that once I was out, I was out – walking, dancing and floating on the waters of faith with my sweet Lord would be my good fortune and forecast. Perhaps the getting out of the boat is only the beginning of what C.S. Lewis writes as ‘the farther up and further in’ of the kingdom –the first chapter a mere glimpse, taste, suggestion of what is to come.

SO – all that to say that – there is certainly more to come in my little life. My next wee step ‘farther up and further in’ is to pursue my long-time dream for doctoral studies – to continue the passion for researching the hospitality and service of Jesus and to find venues to share this research. To say hello to this dream means to say goodbye to another. I’m ok with this…I think. Transition takes time and involves the grieving of one thing in order to fully embrace another. And yet – I sense it is all one and the same dream really. This clinging to the cross, this longing for the divine, this sharing of life, is found in every context I am located in – physically and relationally; emotionally and spiritually.

Today’s coordinates are a ragamuffin camping experience on the edge of a river valley. Tomorrow’s coordinates are yet to be determined…there’s just one direction I know for sure. It’s the direction that takes me out of the boat…yet again. Lord have mercy. 

A Word Timely Given

What captures my heart these days?

What motivates my hopes, what dispels my fears, challenges my wrongdoings, encourages my convictions, interprets my circumstances, redeems missed opportunities, brings new mercies every morning and creates humble reverence IN those mornings?

Driving home last night from a lovely family gathering, I chanced upon a short little podcast I had downloaded from my time in Phoenix last month, that I had yet to listen to. It was a short ‘preach’ given to the student leaders of a conference held last year in the States called The Passion. The topic was on the memorizing of scripture, by a preacher and author well known by many, John Piper. I can’t say I’m entirely sure I land where he does on all thoughts about life, relationships and the church today; but his 65-year-old voice as it came over the speakers in my little Chevy Optra was soft, kind, passionate and compelling.

He mentioned that he was speaking with no manuscript, (which is apparently uncharacteristic for him) save for a few heading titles. He told stories, he offered resources, but mostly he quoted scriptures. Pockets of old and new, epistles and songs, from Samuel to Jesus to Paul. All from memory, all in an oratory style reminiscent for me of those long dramatic monologues I learned in English 10 or Drama 20 or first year college courses.

The memory that haunts him over 30 years in pastoral ministry was the first hospital visit he undertook as a 34-year-old greenhorn, to a family who was losing their mother. He forgot his bible. The family asked for ‘a word.’ “Give us a word Pastor.” His mind went blank. He held their gazes, awkwardly, self-consciously, then bowed; mumbled a prayer, offered condolences and left. And resolved. Resolved to never again be without ‘a word.’

My memory goes to a little grade 6 girls Sunday school class that my friend and I taught years ago. We weren’t sure what we were doing – but we were passionate and sincere and desperate. Desperate enough to seek out some disciplines to teach and that was how I came to learn Psalm 91 with 20 grade 6 girls, making up a melody with limited chords on a borrowed guitar, (which is apparently uncharacteristic for me) changing pronouns to suit the context – “SHE who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

This Psalm then took my friend and I to Calcutta, India and back again. To workplaces and relationships, to painful circumstances and joyful mountaintops.

What captures my heart these days?

Dare I attempt to explain this longing and life of and in the Spirit through the WORD of the Spirit? Even the memorized word?

Suffice it to say that Piper’s ‘preach’ was a word timely given.

“Because she loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue her; I will protect her because she acknowledges my name. She will call upon me, and I will answer her; I will be with her in trouble, I will deliver her and honor her. With long life will I satisfy her and show her my salvation.” Psalm 91: 14-16