more the patient.

it's almost like I can touch it -
this intangible grace,
as my hands run up and out and over the traces of the good He is

fingertip glancing the softest touch - for oh, how the softest one both thrills and humbles me
over this life-abundant, swollen with Him
doing worship as I look, and see, and love
and song burst from the heart, out to His glory to Everlasting

I think of how
there has been no ease, but there is rest
there has been no momentary quench, but deep satisfaction grows
and a more genuine smile, a more understanding ear,
a more broken and healing heart, more the patient than ever anything else.

   Enjoying Psalm 63 - inviting you to share.

little rays

peeking around clouds,

tip-toeing through grey & blue

dropping lavish - gold & warm, into our souls,

like a hand to hold,

or a happy hug

You drip, drop, delight onto world-weary hearts

Praise Your name, Jesus Christ.






 

This is wonderful.

much of His peace.

I write.

Hi all.

I feel a bit sheepish, coming here.  Typing this and that - as though I've been at this. 
I haven't been typing black and white here,
and I wonder if it shows?

How He has soothed aches,
as every word marched down to page became a prayer?
a release? a surrender?

If it shows, how He set my mind, and heart,
and hands ablaze, with thought and word?
And how, a signpost led to love,
and work, and words to share and describe and explain?
Words to give Him praise and glory?
Words to point our  hearts and minds back to Him who enlivens us - makes us, live and move and breathe?

Next week, I stand to defend my thesis.
  I sincerely chuckle when I read it.
It means what is on those 117 pages.  And it means a lot more.
How God is faithful to you in the task.  How He drives you.  How He raises you from the pit.  How He places your feet on the solid ground of faith in Him.  How He put every heart, and mind, and soul, around you that you might give Him thanks and praise.


Amen. 

it is finished.

future floods & now.

the future.
is always that.
you can plan, you can prepare.

what you get in the end is, now.
Kingdom here.
today's work, worry, love, soup, bad-hair-day, good-hair-day, heartache, happiness - rain or shine.

sometimes, no matter how you prepare - the future is different than the forecast.
sometimes you are dead on, and you swell with the pride of all the Scouts gone before at your preparedness.

But none of this changes this Truth: that what you have is present, what you have is now, what you have is from Him: the Good and Gracious and Mighty, who is here, who holds all together - as futures flood into nows.

jump. right. in.

I am not one prone to rash decision.

No, I tend to be the level-headed, calm, planner.

It serves me oh, so well,

against the fear of unknown.

What planning can't afford though is change.

I'd always wanted a rabbit, and I was missing a little creature to come home to.

Longing for close, after so much loss.

So, on a whim, I went to a friend's barn in search for

a ginger and cream bundle of bunny-affection.

If you knew her you could imagine the disappointment

when I brought home Nutmeg instead.

Orange, white and ornery. Unleashing a fury I was not aware such a small thing could possess.

caring for Nutmeg demanded my heart be changed,

my actions become deliberately compassionate:

subdueing with love rather than rigidity -

slowing enough to learn to care rightly.

a friend and I were recently talking about wanting to discern the will of God in our lives -

not wanting to chance a misaligned step toward Him:

fearing the trouble and potential all around, losing faith.

Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them
and they were battered by the waves. At about four o'clock in the morning, Jesus
came toward them walking on the water.

They were scared out of their wits. "A ghost!" they said, crying out in terror.

But Jesus was quick to comfort them. "Courage, it's me. Don't
be afraid."
Peter suddenly bold, said, "Master, if it's really you, call me to come to
you on the water."
He said, "Come ahead."
Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But
when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost
his nerve and started to sink. He cried, "Master, save me!"
Jesus didn't hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his
hand. Then he said, "Faintheart, what got into you?"
The two of them climbed into the board and the wind died down. The
disciples in the boat, having watched the whole thing, worshiped Jesus, saying,
"This is it! You are God's Son for sure!"

- Matthew 14:26-34, MSG

Faith might invite that you feel the sting of the storms, or a rabbit's generous bite.
But to change - to come close, you have to jump.right.in.

break.down.

ended up sitting in the middle of mess- surrounded by pieces that impossibly fit together - listening to His voice to know when to move one, and where: to follow holy as I have never before.

break.down.
Ignorance threatening terror - but these words are of the most delicious of all.
If I know Him who whispers them,
The One who brings our bodies up with His, through sin - brokenness - and blood,
The One who crushes walls - no matter the magnificence, to get to you - to me.

craving: the frankness of one's insidious sin,
Death to be risen,
And Grace, the soothing balm to mend the ache.
I dance, limping - contented sways of hip to the Master's hum.

break.down -
by violent crash,
or Lover's potent whisper,
into the sweetest Landing of this World.

And be

all. swept. up.



- with Em and others
much peace.

[FULL]

full.
yep, I'm full: of Christmas food and gifts (oh, the resolutions that will come of this...), and WORD - as I say "thank You, thank You" in the darkness lit by candlelight.

my eyes have been renewed - and I see them standing there, finally in His presence - in Light. and I say 'thank You, thank You'

Emmanuel, filler of space hidden in darkness. Lighter of hearts cold and longing.
The fullness of God - miracle of Incarnation, in this inconsequential village on a lakeside. Incarnating, again and again - so we light canldles, warm at their flickers and sing "Joy'.

we adore Thee.

taking in the trash.

Okay.
I am going to confess. I've had a wish, a tiny dream: of all things, for a trashcan.
A nice stainless steel one, that's bigger than the tiny thing I have under the sink.
But, j'ai une petite budget - and a nice trash can, would be a splurge.
Who would spend gobs on a trash can!? I have been tempted no doubt....
Only a Fool.

But today, when I got home from a trip to see my parents - there it was at the bottom of my stairs - newish, just the size I had researched, and stainless-beautiful-steel! Cast away because it was broken at the hinge - but oh, so fixable!

I actually jumped out of my car - and thanked God. yep, I was wooping in the drive...
Speaking praises to the One who already knows I like stainless best. And that some of you like plastic, and others have never thought of such a thing.
The Lover who pours His God-Fool love and grace out over broken, trash cast-offs and aways.

Fixer-up, never-giver-upper.
Today, I'm so thankful for all the many ways He loves the rumpled and shines up the dull.
Woot!

the light of Life.

It's snowing and I have my rain boots on
and I smile thinking about this:
If I were at work, I would be thinking - assessing, 'wow, this person is not dressed appropriately'
and make judgement. Intervene.

Hee =) I'm nobody's patient today, under the scrutiny of my Holy God who loves me.
Today, these boots are just bringing me joy - these hand-me-downs with diamonds and hearts.
I smile.

My uncle is sort of a legend when it comes to duck-boots, and I'm not trying to perpetuate that... I'm not for annointing rubberboots.
But, I'm thinking about His gifting Self. How those silly boots are a gift. How He brings joy. How He bestows the simplest treasures only a fool child's eyes can see and heart can hold.

I giggle at sparkley things. I keep bubbles in my purse.
I like to laugh, really loud and hearty - until tears come, because why laugh just a little when you mean it.
And I love Jesus Christ.
Because I'm overcome in His foolish love.

He says He's the light of life. And that the dark in us and of us, doesn't get it. The laughing Messiah who brings joy in the midst of real sorrows. How can a chuckle cast away all of our fear-stained longing for change?
His smile weighs hearty in the victory celebration of the soul. His hand slaps to His side to the rhythmic clap of my boots that call out to puddles to jump in, though the day is sunny - melting the white.
He laughs for His Kingdom is come, and there is joy. Though tears still stain our faces, and pain will pierce our hearts, and times are unhappy - the Joy King sows seeds of His Kingdom in the simple and blinds us with light that makes us know and grow in joy.




Please join me dear ones, and sharing a joy treasure or two.

much peace.

(P.S. It's over half November, and who wants to contain Christmas-ness any longer? Not moi.)

gasp. touch.

sometimes they grab at my arms
hands open, gasping to touch -
in the rage of why?
or the fear of how?
the despair...of when?
movement. emotion. moment. intensity.
and each passes into the next.
to be near.

reaching out to be close.
letting go.

isn't this what we all want? to be close, to You.

the gospel. Monday at dusk.

on my couch, surrounded by piles of academic papers and bunny-fuzz
I used to think a house should be squeak-clean
but now, I think differently
it's meant only to be devoted back to You.
and the dishes, are half done. The laundry, still in the dryer and the bed never was made.


Monday afternoons, I used to think should be rigidly defined. By work, and with work's purpose, and structure,
but, it's only meant for Your purposes:
so I give thanks for the nap that I had and needed; for the permission to do so, because the paper-writing would so not be happening right now otherwise. On to a second cup of coffee, and an evening - just like the day, filled with Christ and His word when I listen.

You measure with justice, mercy, love and grace.
I give thanks. Thanks.

unfurl

remaining
means to let go:

palms upturned,
work-fingers quieted,

and be caught up in His wild, loving embrace
made colour in His stroke
and beautiful as He blows through ash and soot,
Seeker of clay, Breather of this life

to unfurl, for All -
into All
He is.

living. hope.

:)

Happy Thanksgiving.

Give it. It's His to have, your hands to clap
at good news.

and a hope that is living.

letting go to the Centre.

worst days are for remembering what you've prepared in all the rest:

Somedays it's just plain difficult.
And I come home angry and frustrated and exhausted.
Like yesterday, after a week of hard hard working. Of mustering the energy to cheer them on toward the goal - of laughing and living with them along the way, though every moment knit together will make it very sad to see them no longer.

Because dying, is hard hard work.
Because it's so much work - this letting go, this living in the full,
this being shaped and growing up -
this walking alongside the grieving, of grieving yourself.


It's hard sometimes to do the next thing, the right thing - it's not easy because it's right; lesser than often does right come with the euphoric sense of well-done, more often it comes with opposition that will threaten to beat on your most tender place - your heart. It's hard to come home with the biggest questions weighing heavy in your mind and short-term memory - hard when they come with names and faces.

But easier - when you remember this is a child, of God - Caller of them to His home, lover of them dearly more, through death to life. And you, thank God! as well. Easier when you remember that He meets you together in your moments of nurse and dying, where you each play your part, right. This, is our fellowship.

How! You are the softest, strongest place to fall dead-centre into. The bounds of the heart, soul, body and strength - the One acquainted with salt-traced and testing-stained faces, and companion to the deep burning angry, so as not to become bitter all together.

How long Oh Lord? We don't know.
Until then, Lord have mercy - hold us still, together.


Giving thanks for:
quiet evenings reading with friends
sunny fall days
my sweet, brave NM

none spectacular

There is nothing spectacular about these bushes before me through the window of this coffee shop; with sporadic, springing branches, see-sawing in the summer's end breeze, with August-sun drawn green-gold leaves. They aren't pretty, at all.
But I am comforted by these terribly humble, jagged leaves and the living life they whisper - of a summer growing and tales of warmth in the sun. Their thick and full is waning, the branches of the bush dip and bend, down toward the rest that comes of winter. Dead blooms, withered, hang.
There is nothing speactacular about these bushes.
Yet, they are quiet talking teachers still - professing to any who will wonder long, breeching the 20 minute lingering limit of the shop. Witnesses of the summer's Sun, preachers of bold and right growth, however wiley and sporadic; told in hues that will only ever be fair.

And now, dying deaths without wild witness.

Christ, gentle hand to the bent, broken and pale - liberator of seed, that life to the full might be plentiful to us. He is near.



giving thanks.

if I didn't know I have nothing...

I'd never learn how sweet the rain and wind are
even if it messes your hair.

I'd never notice the dance of light on rock,
as a sweet answer to prayer.

I'd never know the delight it is,
to be embraced and to embrace.

I'd never be drawn to You,
to satisfy, to teach, to lay and learn in listen

I'd never know that You are - Everything;
without You, no being.



Joining Em & Ann today - broken, cracked for He pours out.

peace to you this weekend, in His fullness.


Enjoy a favorite song :)

experience celebration

neither you, nor I are likely to know what you'll get when I hit the kitchen.

And it just kills my mother, who loves the 'recipe',

that her child might regard it simply as a rough 'guideline'.

So it happened when I started my birthday cake this year-

that turned into a pie, of no-consequence.

hunting through cupboards and fridge with my nose for all that gives great, unique delight

lemons and blueberries and chocolate;

et, ma piece - nuts. Candied nuts.

and I served this, to other people... who humbly received the offering of, "what did you say that was again?"

finishing with a, "that was an experience".

Ha! Blessed!

To the God who, creates, giver of time to think, and roll and bake;

maker of willy-nillies in the kitchen,

and life,

and friends who will submit themselves to trying a piece of you-pie ;)

asante way.

Four summers ago, I flew in a plane over the familiar sight of Europe to an unfamiliar Africa.

Making tracks and change, leaving loved ones behind in Canada - to Him who is able: to hold all the tears no one man can hold, and use them to water dry lands.

I followed His voice, His word and direction - and it led me to Kibera, Kenya.
It still perplexes me why I should be given the honour to travel to such a place, to meet those who touched my heart and inspired the soul. Standing together, lifting voices in praise we were not different, but we were church. Here and there, we all need the Lord - we are all blessed in His gift.

I came home culture-changed. When I don't use a clock or watch, when I keep the lights out at night and burn flickering candles, when I treat myself for the lasting effects of typhoid et al., when I bake chapati on my electric stove, when I syncopate my clapping in Sunday services, I remember Kibera.
In the slum, I learned another means to be thankful for another means of richness: Thanking Him for the water that came once through the week, the intermittent electricity, but mostly for what we had in our lack of Canada, and full of Kenya- more of each other, of feeble Kiswahili attempts, of cultural-missteps and tears and laughter with kindest of friends.

The crushing contrast arriving back here at home haunts me still - my first glimpse at my home country, far more striking than my first gaze at the dusty, smelling vista of the the shanty-city-become-temporary-home. But, it wasn't all about that.

This morning, I felt a twinge of impending guilt as I awoke in my bed nestled in a soft and safe nest, with pillows and a fresh blanket. How many times have I internalized a speech that expostulated my responsibility for the material difference? How these platitudes motivate us in fear, and paralyze us from our responsibility to our brothers and sisters.
So, I made it to my knees to thank Him for much this morning. I gave Him my question why? and how? too.

Only out of the heart of thanks can He move to make well the poverty - our pity is uncharitable. From the posture of thanking we are moved into our daily of His work, and the truth shows up in His way. This is how we might love one another.

I pray for nests of Shalom in Kibera - though this is not the whole reality there now, there are those working diligently to envision and build them - carpenters like their Brother.
peace to you dear friends & His strength in your hands.
Asante.

believing just went out the door.

a gift given this weekend.
time off when I was ready to work.
what to do?! wah!
stand there on the unit like I did, in scrubs
shaking with excitement.
hardly able to believe.

in weirdest, greatest ways He comes down, lays down -
takes you up and leads you on.
'Who do you say I am?'

belief keeps growing,
as you walk down steps,
though the door,
run down the street
burst through another - and pack, and hurry, and not take too much time to think about whether to receive the gift given.

and realize that this is choosing to believe.
allowing receipt,
and gobbling it up like an excited pre-teen, growing boy.
no regret. just thanks.
hurtling down the highway toward what you are so grateful to have.

still believing, though traffic gets heavy and competitive;
though en route you realize you forgot some essentials;
and though the clouds lay a downpour too -
though you're bringing just a rumpled-up you to the party.
still believing because you haven't turned back.
He provides -
you just went out the door.


thanks from the road:

• good waves goodbye.
• CBC Radio 2 - I heart you and your folk songs.
• golden sunsets at your back.
• big, blue skys.
• dark, lightening-striken ones.
• patient rabbits in the back seat.
• ! the group 'canoeing' from the windows of their farm truck.
• laughing at them, and thus having them drive by thrice to show off sweet 'paddling' skills.

mama's B

to the woman who waited and waits for me
with faithful anticipation...

Happy Birthday!
it's my mom's birthday today.

I love her. She becomes dearer to me with every day.

Every phone chat.

Every tense moment of me moving from little-girl to big-one.

Every shopping excursion that ends in me listless and her frustrated with my shop apathy :)

Every way that we are the same, but "black-is-white".

Every tear and tearing hug as we part.

Every excited long one when we see each other again.

Every pen scratch on the page as she studies.

Every selfless moment in the kitchen where she doesn't really "love" to cook (but man, can she!)

Every moment where she is wisdom.

Every moment where she doesn't know something, and says it - where she feels, and shows it.

thanks mom.

you are you, fearfully and wonderfully you:

the first to point out to me the tenderness in your love of soft and little.

the one to teach me love of water and sand, and sound of tree frogs... or june bugs... or whatever.

the one who goes miles for being together :)

love ya much.