Discrepancies

I've been thinking a lot lately about the discrepancy between how people see themselves and how we see ourselves...  it all started with a Facebook post back on January 1st.  I posted how boring I was because rather than stay up till midnight I went to be early and slept through "ringing in the New Year".  A comment came back saying I was the least boring this person knew, that I was vivacious and alive, engaged and energetic.      
(???SERIOUSLY???? I don't think so, I'm really rather boring.)
Recently I've been told that I'm "nice" - it's a genuine affirmation after I guess what could been seen as a kindness.  My response is pretty much always, "no, not really".  I don't mean it to be flippant or that I'm a total meanie-butt. . . . but really, I don't think so.

Another example is my daughter.  I see her as compassionate, delightful, determined, and funny... (I could go on.  If you want to read all about it, check out Nov 18th post.).  Her response, "I wish I knew her, she sounds awesome."  I wanted to scream, "BUT IT IS YOU, ALL YOU"

I don't understand the discrepancy.  Its not that I want to feel all puffed-up and self important at how fabulous I am. . . It just seems. . . . hmmmmm. . . . . . . inconsistent.  I don't like inconsistent.

I'm not sure there is an answer here... cuz I'm really not nice (you should hear the commentary that goes on in my head) and I really am boring (I'd rather sit at home, in the quiet and knit than go out and be with people).  Yet somehow, in the realm of the miraculous when I'm with people... really WITH them... something different happens.  I'm engaged, I'm 'nice'. . . . . it's really what I to be. . . . no, it's WHO I want to be. . . .

Cameo asked me the other day, "Is who we want to be really who we are?"  Good question.  I didn't really have an answer, so I texted back "probably".  My head was saying, 'I sure hope so'.    Talking to Tim about it, he said, 'yes', "it's who God wants you to be too.  And He created you to be that."
  And then there's that verse - I think it's in Phillipians - God works in you to WILL and to DO His good pleasure.   So there it is, maybe that's the answer. . . . God created us, a hard-wired temperament in our brains, He places us in homes and provides us with experiences that affect us, but we are all tainted and disfigured.  A chaotic mess, a black hole of pain and sin, weakness and yuck (there's no better word)  

. . . . but. . . . . if we are still. . . . . and if we listen and surrender..... He will heal us and mold us, shape us. Holding our temperament, our experiences our pain and weakness gently, ever so gently.  He kneads us adding the water of His extravagant  lavish love, His tenderest mercy, His enduring strength.  He creates something that transcends to the realm of the miraculous. . . . and then, in us, the tiny seed of desire begins to sprout and as He continues to heal the desire grows. . . . and in the shadow of mystery and miracle. . . . . the fruit of that healing becomes nourishment for others...
and we become what we desire to be. . . . not through our striving. . . . but through miracle. . . . and the true beauty of it all lies in the fact that we don't see it in ourselves, or feel it. . . . but ARE it anyway, despite ourselves.

I'm going to end with a little story.  
Last Wednesday at Prayer Meeting, I sat on the floor with sweet Piper (she's 3 years old).  We coloured and made pictures with stickers.  Dressed Minnie Mouse and drew more pictures of caterpillars and ladybugs. . . I didn't do it to be nice, it wasn't hard, it took no effort. . . . I just did it (it helped her Mom concentrate on Prayer Meeting and I was still able to listen and interact too).  Towards the end of the meeting Piper leaned over - I thought she was going to whisper something in my ear as she had done a few times already - but instead... her  little lips touched my cheek.....in the realm of the miraculous.... the moment transcended to a different plain, an unseen reality......... a sweet kiss from Heaven

I'll be seeing ya

I've been thinking a lot about mercy.  On a day-to-day basis, what does mercy look like?  How do I extend mercy to the people around me moment by moment.  Sure there are the grand gestures, like feeding the hungry, sponsoring a child in  3rd world country, or like I heard recently on the radio, allowing a homeless family to live in your home for a year at no cost while you live in your parent's basement.  But we can't always do those things, I can't always do those things.  So what CAN I do?  How does mercy become the way I live, the WHO I am?

I read a blog recently where the woman said she was no longer going to live hiding in shame... she was going to allow herself to be imperfect and not berate herself for making mistakes, not fear if things don't turn out as expected and even if everything falls apart, she will practice life with courage... I was moved to tears... I too want to live my life that way... courageous, I want to show up, not hide in the shadows, cowering in fear, ruminating over all the 'what-ifs'.  I want to be present, I want to be seen....

..... and then it hit me!

If everyone is busy being seen, who is doing the seeing?  Please don't misunderstand me.  When I talk about being seen I'm not condemning anyone.  I'm not talking about arrogant, puffed-up, prideful people who force everyone to look at them.  I'm talking about what Brene Brown refers to a "wholehearted living".  Being vulnerable, willing to be flawed, living transparently, with an open heart.... showing up, being present...   but it can't stop there.  If I'm going to show-up and been seen, am I willing to "see" as well?

One of my favourite stories in the Bible is when Hagar and Ishmael get sent away by Sarah and Abraham.  Ishmael is left by a tree and Hagar goes a way off because she cannot watch her son die.  Then God speaks, He tells her to get up, to keep going, He will not let Ishmael or her die... Hagar's response is "I have seen the God who SEES me".  Don't we all want someone to really SEE us.  I love it when I am in a crowded room and I hear a familiar faint whistle and look across the room to Tim looking right at me, then he'll wink.  In the midst of ALL those people, he SEES me.... he sees ME.

So here's the kicker.... to "show-up and be seen" and to "see" are not mutually exclusive, and I might go so far as to say they walk in tandem.

I will show-up in my life.  I will live with courage and a wholeheart.  But I will also live "seeing".  And maybe that is how I can live mercy.  I want to "see"  really "SEE" the people around me.  I want to "SEE" you.

I cannot solve world hunger, I cannot stop crazy men from going into schools and killing young children.  I cannot alleviate suffering.  But I CAN see your suffering.  And I can sit with you in your suffering and provide the small comfort that you are "not alone", that you are "seen".  That someone is by your side.

I can also rejoice with you, laugh with you.  Be grateful and praise God when your life is beautiful and all is well with you.  Triumph in your triumphs.

So I've decided that to live a life of mercy.... is to "see", truly "see" those around me....

I'll be seeing ya,
k

Mercy

Several days ago a friend posted on Facebook about choosing a word to live by in 2013 rather than making a new year's resolution.  I've never made a new year's resolution, I've felt they are rather foolish.  This idea... living by a word, intrigued me.

I thought about it for a while, played with some words in my head, but nothing grabbed me.  So I put the idea aside....

On New Year's Eve my husband and I went to see the movie Les Miserable.  I was disturbed throughout the entire movie.  So much suffering, so much pain... I couldn't contain it.  I felt it every where, in my shoulders, in my guts.  I shivered and tensed, my heart literally hurt.

For those of you who do not know the story.  The opening scene is of Jean Verjean being put on parole and let out of prison (for stealing a loaf of bread).  He travels in the cold, looking for work, looking for food, looking for warmth, everywhere he goes he is rejected and turned away because his "papers" say he is a convict.  He ends up at a monastery... the priest invites him in, feeds him, gives him a warm fire to sleep by and a bed.  In the night Jean Verjean steals the silver from monastery and runs away.  He is caught and brought back to the monastery.  The police say that Jean says he was given the silver.  The priest, validates Jean's story, "yes we gave him the silver, but Jean you were in such a hurry your forgot the best pieces"  the priest picks up the two silver candlesticks on the table and hands them to Jean Verjean.

As you can imagine Jean Verjean has NO idea what to do with that "mercy".  He wrestles with God and decides to change his life.  To "change" his name and legacy.

Years later, under a new name, he is the mayor of a town.  He sets up a factory for women so they don't have to prostitute themselves.  We even see him, in his fine clothes free a man from being crushed by a beam that falls on him....

As I watched this man do whatever he could to ease people's suffering constantly extending mercy.  Reaching out, lifting up, soothing, protecting.... I was moved... I too want to ease suffering.  There is so much suffering, so much pain.  Can I be "living, breathing mercy"?  Oh, I want to be.  I want to be the hand that soothes, the voice that encourages, the arms that hold another's pain gently so as not to bruise.

A bruised reed He will not crush, a smoldering wick He will not snuff out (Isaiah 42:3).  Let me be mercy, Dear God, let me be mercy!

So my One Word... the word I want to live by ... is MERCY.

Merry Christmas Morning

I love quiet mornings when I am up and everyone else is sleeping.  With two teens in the house (well actually one is 20 now) opening stockings on Mum and Dad's bed doesn't happen quite as early anymore.  Mifi woke me up this morning..her whiskers tickling my face... meowing to be fed.  So I got up. 

I'm sitting in the living room.  Lights are sparkling on the tree.  The best part though, are my birds.  Outside my living room window I am blessed to watch so many birds.  My favourite are the chickadees.  This morning there is also a cardinal, very bright red in a background of gray (it's a cloudy, sloppy day).  Mourning doves grace the ground.  Tufted Titmice (or would it be titmouses... I don't know) flit back and forth to the feeder.  I even saw a woodpecker on the seed-filled suet hanger.  

I have a thing for birds.. I kind of identify with them... feel like I am one of them.  Not for any logical reason.  When I was little people used to say I "ate like a bird"... in my young mind I associated that with I "am like a bird".   This led me to love the Sabbath School song God Sees the Little Sparrow Fall  again I was the sparrow and yes, He loves me too.  

So on this quiet Christmas morning I leave you with these words...  "He loves me too, He loves me too, I know He loves me too.  If God so loves the little things, I know He loves me too."

God bless you abundantly more than you could ever ask or imagine.  May you rest in the assurance that He loves me too.

Merry Christmas.

O Christmas Tree

I do it every year.  And I need to Quit!  

I set up my Christmas tree about a week ago.  All excited with anticipation.  Wanting things to be beautiful and magical for my children (even though they are 16 and 20).  Glitter and stars, twinkles and sparkles.  I pulled out the lights and strung them up close together so the tree would shine, first white ones, then blue ones.  Beautiful, dazzling.  Then I found the case of ornaments, pulled them out... and that is when it happened, just like it does every year..... my heart sank.

You see, my case of ornaments does not have in it shiny ribbon, glass balls, elegant bows and delicate decorations.  No, it has needlepoint plastic canvas santas and wreaths, misshapen angels and oddball trinkets.  Every year I loathe those needlepoints ... I want somethings beautiful, that shines, that takes my breath away every time I walk in the room.  That glows with grace and style.  

The wishing, the longing, the inadequacy ... it felt like a lump, like a pill ten sizes too big lodged in my throat, slowly, painfully sliding down to my heart.   Heavy...thick

But this feeling, this yuck... lasted but a moment (thankfully).  As I looked into the case of ornaments I saw something different.  I saw a story.  I saw our story.  Our ornaments tell a tale.... a tale of a life together... of family.  Needlepoint ornaments made while we awaited the birth of our first child; twisted wire and bare wood birds with string attached, made for our first Christmas tree; crooked angels made with lacy fabric and pipecleaner halos; baby's first Christmas ornaments; a snowman with "Jared" printed on it.  Goofy ornaments of Peanuts characters, Bob and Larry vegietales, a boy riding a stingray.  Some are beautiful, gifts from my sister, a delicate glass bell, a blue ornament with gold ribbon commemorating the love between sisters.  Some ornaments are cute, Precious Moments children playing the piano, and another with ice skates.  Small ornaments of Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus, shepherds and an angel.  Each one special, each one connected to something or someone important.   Important to us... our family, our home.

The lump in my chest was replaced with tears in my eyes.  inadequacy became gratitude....  

With a full heart... overwhelmed by love and gratitude... I picked up a handful of needlepoint ornaments and with great respect I placed them on the tree.... first....to honour our life.... our story....

O Christmas tree.... O Christmas tree.  How LOVELY are your branches

Enough

How can I be enough when I'm so scared?
How can I be enough....
                   Alone
                       it pushes in
                               my chest is caving
                                        it's hard to breathe
                                               the tears are streaming.....
The voice looms dark and deep
     "never enough, Never Enough, NEVER ENOUGH...."
The echo rings, 
           circles round and round
            it finds a home
            deep in my soul.
And here I sit........


But TRUTH be told
      a song beyond the voice
           a whisper in the wind
                "you are mine, I delight..."
So there I rest,
           (dark, lonely, scared)
                    there I rest..........................

Always Thankful

Today is American Thanksgiving (Canadians observe Thanksgiving the 2nd Monday in October.. but we won't get into that).  Every year on this particular day, I am thankful; not the 4th Thursday in November, but the 22nd day of November.  Today is my husband's birthday.  And my gratitude spills over to God for creating such a marvelous man.

Those shoulders are the strong ones that have carried me.  Those arms are the gentle ones that have held and comforted me.  THAT MAN is my safe place!  Thank You God!

There is no one I admire or respect more.  None that live with integrity as he does.  He stands true, as the needle to the pole, and will not waver.  

His heart is tender and open.  He nurtures the weary, comforts the sick, and encourages the discouraged.  And he prays with EVERYONE, no matter the situation or circumstance he will walk you to the throne of grace and put you in the arms of Jesus.

His passion for people and for God is unfathomable.  He is a warrior, clothed in the armor of God. He fights with all his might, protecting God's people from the enemy and rescuing those that have been caught and imprisoned.

So today I am thankful.  I am thankful for the man that shares the dailiness of my life.  For the man that I can trust and admire.  For the man that makes me laugh and love.  For the man who loves me and showed me the love of God.  For the man I wake up with every morning and fall asleep beside every night.

Tim, my heart is yours forever.  Thank you for being My Man!