an ode to my husband

I've often told my husband he's my hero. Like the knight who swoops in and lifts his lady off the ground in a rush of surprise, wonder and excitement, so he did with me over three years ago when we met. I didn't expect him, but there he was. Chock full of all that goodness and love and faithfulness I've come to admire so much.

Heroes are usually the guys that rescue cats from tall trees or run into the middle of oncoming traffic to save a little girl from being hit by a car. They're the people that do these extreme, life-saving (and life-giving) things. They're remembered for all of time because they leave a legacy of self-sacrifice, bravery and a commitment to others. Who's to say, though, that these acts of selflessness have to be so dramatic, so grandiose?

Everyday, I get to wake up next to a man who works hard to provide for our little family. He packs me a lunch for work, making sure to ask me if today's a fruit bar or granola bar day. He humours me when I text him while he's working, sometimes even sending me cute little self-portraits so I remember how much I'm loved. He brings me dinner when I'm at work and sits with me while I complain about crazy hotel guests. He listens to my rants, my dreams, my concerns, my hopes for the future. He makes sure he's on the edge of the sidewalk closest to traffic when we're taking a walk. He massages my neck when I'm sore, even though I know it's not one of his favourite things to do. He changes the duvet cover because it frustrates me to do it myself, and makes us both laugh from our bellies when he grabs me and traps me inside of it. When I'm sick, he takes good care of me. When I'm sad, he lets me cry all over his shirt, and when I laugh, he's right there cracking up with me (and, let's be honest, sometimes at me). He believes in me, sometimes even more than I believe in myself, and he loves me in spite of my weaknesses. He accepts who I am, flaws and all, and he's intentional about being a good spouse. He said goodbye to his home so we could pursue our dreams in a city he's never even seen, and hasn't looked back. He's committed to Jesus, to us, and to His dreams for us.

This man, my friends, is as gold as they come, and without this heart beating next to me, I wouldn't know half of what I now understand of God's incredible, fierce and faithful love.

He leaves a mark on my life every single day and that's why I call him my hero. The past two years have been real and messy and beautiful and amazing, and not a day has gone by where I don't thank the good Lord for this gift I've been given. So to you, my handsome man, Happy Anniversary and thank you for loving me. Your kindness and compassion and faithfulness blow me away.

the countdown is on...

It's been a long while since I've sat down to write for this 'lil blog of mine. Almost two months, actually, and that is truly a sad thing. Sad because I've had about a bajillion things on my mind that could've used some blog therapy to help process, and yet, a bajillion things is a pretty big and dangerous number to try and narrow down. At any rate, here I am. Back at the old drawing board, and quite honestly, I have nothing profound or insightful to say other than this sneeze of a sentence:

In exactly one week from today, D and I are packing up our life and moving halfway across the country to Winnipeg.

Although this move has been a long time coming (I started requesting materials about grad schools a year ago), the anticipation of that "far-off life-changing thing" has finally arrived at the crossroads called "Do" or "Die". I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about changing my mind over the past couple of weeks. I've had my doubts, which I think comes with grieving the loss of something, but ultimately I'm trying to remember the reason we decided to go and that can be encapsulated in this: we're pursuing the dreams God has placed in our hearts.

And that leads me to something a friend said to me the other day. She said that sometimes when we're taking a big leap and doing something that will really change us, the letting-go-and-getting-there process is that much harder. I thought this was interesting because I'd never really thought about it like that. I've just always thought it was about me feeling sad to leave my home, my community, my beach, my family, my life, which is definitely a part of it -- not necessarily that my heart has been readying itself for something monumental. Which is kind of silly that I wouldn't think that, seeing that normally my mind (and heart) are mostly always overactive and self-reflective! So I think I actually really like what my friend said. It makes sense to me.

The next few days are going to be full and I intend to make them good and rich, like a fabulously decadent dessert after a good meal. There are still logistics to take care of and boxes of junk to sort through (any takers? no?), but that's all secondary to the fact that I get to spend some good quality time with the people I love in the place I love.

When I left for BC six years ago, I knew somewhere deep down that I'd be there for good. The wandering soul in me couldn't explain it at the time, but now that I've truly found home, it makes sense. It makes sense that my heart is grieving saying goodbye. It makes sense that I teeter between excitement and nausea. It makes sense that the unknown scares me and makes me want to stay where things are familiar. But at one time, this place was the unknown, and look where it's taken me. Full circle, baby.

So here's to changes of the good-for-you variety, and squeezing the juice out of life, and embracing the doors that have been opened to you, and trusting in the goodness and faithfulness of God. The journey continues, and what a journey it will be!

delete the pain?

I read something yesterday that surprised me out of my daily humdrum and spoke volumes to me about the human condition. While researching Scientology, I discovered a therapy-like process Scientologists participate in called auditing. Its goal is to "restore beingness and ability", thereby providing a "precise path by which any individual may walk an exact route to higher states of spiritual awareness." Fair enough. Many of us want spiritual awareness, regardless of which religion or faith we associate with. But here's the thing that really jolted me:

"Auditing, then, deletes those things that were added to the reactive mind through life's painful experiences and addresses and improves one's ability to confront and handle the factors in his life."

Did I read that correctly? It deletes those things that were added to the reactive mind through life's painful experiences. Just like that, and all the pain I've been through and all the ways in which I've been hurt are simply erased. And isn't that what everyone wants? To be rid of the pain and discomfort we experience in our imperfect and messy lives? To feel nothing but happiness, contentment, peace and fulfillment? Sure we do. It's only natural.

But what really bothers me about this statement is the fact that we really do believe that in order to live a rich and satisfying life, we must delete the pain. After all, so many of us have experienced it ruthlessly, unjustly, and its after-shock is still writhing around in our lives, wreaking havoc and leaving broken relationships in its wake. We never feel stable or secure, we're anxious, distrusting, sad and lonely. Old wounds (and new ones) have ways of seeping into the cracks of our heart like nothing else can. So I don't condemn this sentiment or judge anyone who has felt it -- in fact, there are specific times in my life I remember crying out to God and begging Him to just take this pain away, take it away please...I'm no different than anyone else.

Yet what exactly are we doing when we're asking this question? We're desperate for our hurt to go away because we don't like imperfection. We don't like to feel uncomfortable or sad or angry or alone. And again, that is normal, especially when we've been deliberately and deeply wounded or mistreated. But when we deny ourselves of the experiences that we've had, the pieces that make up the puzzle that is our life, we only miss out on the richness that could be. In essence, we deny who we are. It would be so much easier, we think, to have someone press some cosmic "delete" button, our feelings the pain has caused evaporating as though it never happened. But the reality is it has happened. We have been hurt and wounded, we have felt sadness and brokenness, and the secret is, we'll be OK. We don't need anyone to erase our pain because, believe it or not, pain is a part of our story. It's sometimes the very thing that carries us into who we're meant to be and the part we're meant to play in this world.

So embrace the pain, but don't glorify it, because pain is never the end of the story. With God, there is always the light of redemption at the end of the tunnel, a newness to be discovered, a healing to be restored. We are made for and capable of so much more than the simplistic and disengaged task of merely pressing the delete key, and subduing ourselves in the process. We're created to experience life and life abundantly, and what could be more abundant and victorious than that final trudge out of the desert into the Eden that's teeming with life?

good enough

I saw a video on youtube a few weeks ago and I can't get it out of my head. Take a look:

Brilliant, isn't it? And heartbreaking. A little uncomfortable too, maybe. I've been wanting to write about my reaction to this video for weeks, and yet each time I tried to corral my thoughts and feelings about it, I came up short. The concept of beauty pressure in our culture is so pervading and yet somewhat blurry, because a person can sit on either side of the ever-swinging pendulum. Some women (and I know men deal with these issues, too, but since I'm female, I'll speak to that crowd) are obsessed with their appearance: weight, calorie-intake, exercise, and diets. Yet others seem untouched by society's pressure to measure up to its standard and seem genuinely happy with how they look. I think at various points in my life, I have related to both sides -- in particularly content times, I've felt confident about my body. In uncertain times, I've felt more insecure and disapproving of the way I look. I'd almost bet on the fact we've all been there at one time or another.

But the issue that really struck a chord for me while watching this video was this: the root of all the insecurity, all the obsession over the way we look to others, the self-inflicted pain and feelings of inadequacy we experience in relation to our bodies, is fueled by a standard. And where did we learn about this standard? In the media. Magazines, billboards, music, TV, film, you name it, they've claimed it. Obviously the media isn't responsible for our response, but it certainly perpetuates that standard (that ridiculous, unrealistic standard) and bombards our lives daily.

For me, the most tragic part of all this is the fact that it gets to you when you're young and still so unaware about the standard. (The little girl in the video is a case in point.) I remember watching an episode of Oprah a couple of years ago where she interviewed a 7-year old girl who claimed she was "too fat" and "needed" to go on a diet. Seriously? How did this first-grader even know that she had the option of being too thin or too fat? Where did she learn it? Perhaps from Mom, whether intentional or not, but that idea originally stems from the culture she is surrounded and informed by. I have two little sisters, one eight years old and the other fifteen, and my heart breaks for them when I think about the messages they're hearing when they watch TV and listen to music. I pray that they realize and know the Source of their beauty and that it doesn't depend on an image or size or weight.

I think God is vying for my attention here. Perhaps for all of us who struggle to make peace with our bodies. I know it sounds overused and cliche, but sometimes the things that are most often said are the things that most need to be heard: we are beautiful, no matter what. Our genes are our genes, and we have the freedom and ability to treat our bodies with the care, love, and healthy attention it so deserves. We don't have to buy into what the beauty industry tells us -- the one that tries to make us feel any less a woman if we don't fit the mold. The mold, by the way, that was completely fabricated by people trying to sell clothes, beauty products, and an image. Let's remember this first for ourselves, as strong and healthy women, and then for our daughters, biological or not. We owe it to them to model acceptance, health, and a genuine love for who we are and how we were created. Choose whose voice you want to listen to, and let it be the One who loves and accepts you just as you are. I honestly think the world would be a different place if we believed and lived in this truth.

"Your kingdom come, Your will be done..."

tired.

I said something tonight to my husband that made him respond with this:

"Wow, I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that before."

Let me elaborate. Today has been a fairly emotional day for me and when I get emotional, I often get introspective, and for me, introspection often begets epiphanies, and epiphanies beget statements that surprise. So tonight, out of (seemingly) nowhere, I said:

"The thing is, I'm just really tired of myself."

Has anyone ever felt this way? Perhaps I should elaborate a little more. Lately, there has been a lot going on in my life. I resigned from my job two short weeks ago, tomorrow being my last day, and despite the circumstances that led me to this place, I'm still sad. And painfully dreading saying goodbye to the 20 children I've laboured over for the past 10 months. I've been spending the past few months thinking about, wrestling with, processing, and finally coming to terms with a big move across the country so I can go to grad school and finally get the Masters degree I've been dreaming about for years. I've watched my husband struggle through a job he isn't passionate about, and tried to keep him afloat while still trying to keep my head up out of the water. I've been inside my head a lot in the past year and a half, maybe even more -- and while I do believe that there has been purpose in that, I guess I'm just tired. Tired of being so self-focused. Tired of feeling like my life, my calling, my issues, are at the epicenter of the plight of humankind.

As an aspiring counsellor, I'll be the first to admit that there's an important place for self-reflection. The psychology geeks (me! me!) call it self-actualization -- the process of realizing your full potential by working out who you are, who you're meant to be, and what you're meant to do in the world. And I'm a firm believer in this. Everyone needs to know who they are, what they're made of, and what they're made for. This is the stuff rich and fulfilled lives are made of. Without that focused time, I certainly wouldn't be the person I am now, and Lord knows where I'd be. The only problem I can see in this, though, is the potential to get stuck. And this is part I want to stress, because this is where I feel I am. I remember a time when I would wake up in the morning and ask God to let His love flow out of me and onto others I encountered. I spent my time, not just focusing on my education or work or hobbies, but on conversations that meant something to eternity, deliberately stepping outside my comfort zone to grow in faith, writing cards with encouraging and loving words and giving them to my friends. All small and everyday things, really. But things that last.


So here I am, today, reflecting on that time, not wanting to relive the past but maybe just be reminded of it and how satisfied I was when I lived like that. And of course, to give myself a little grace, knowing that the last 2 years have been chock-full of changes and transitions and that maybe it actually is OK to be normal. But do I want to stay here? No way. I want to move on, move beyond myself, move toward the Light that continues to glow and burn in the face of my self-importance and lack of perspective. I want to know a purpose that's bigger than me. I want to sow into others the way God has sown into me. Even though life's circumstances seem to change as fast as a candle flickers, I want to find contentment and joy in it because my Foundation is immoveable and that, I won't grow tired of.

you're blessed

I'm taking a little break in my series to put forth some some words I was deeply encouraged by this morning.

They're from the book of Matthew, written in Eugene Peterson's fantastic style called The Message. This is his version of the Beautitudes and it's Jesus speaking:

"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and His rule.
You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you're content with just who you are -- no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full', you find yourselves cared for.
You're blessed when you get your inside world -- your mind and heart -- put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom."

These are words I needed to hear, to let penetrate the deep and abandoned little crevices of my mind and my heart. I've been exhausted and worn down, both physically and emotionally, and when I imagine Jesus sitting here next to me, gently telling me about who I am and who I am to be, I am refreshed. He wants to bless me, despite my fairweather-friend tendencies? He wants to teach me a way to live my life that is so counter-cultural, so unimaginably impossible if left to my own devices, and then empower me to actually do it? I'm in.

alex

One of my favourite places to serve in Chicago was Casa Central. This organization was a social service program for the Hispanic people of Chicago. From parenting seminars to ESL classes for new immigrants to daycare, this agency filled a hugely significant need in the community. One of the most special programs was the 'summer school' they offered to elementary school-aged children.

I had the absolute pleasure of serving one week at Casa Central. We played games, led crafts, danced and sang, ate, and adventured with the kids there. And these kids were completely lovely -- fun, passionate, spirited, and boisterous. They were inner-city kids with attitude, and I loved it.

There was a particular group of little girls I noticed right away. Four little spitfires, all of whom, I eventually learned, had unique and beautiful personalities. I instantly wanted to be their friend.
I remember it taking me a while to get "in" with them, though. Picture it: the somewhat reserved, fair-skinned blonde girl in a sea of lively olive-skinned, raven-haired Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, Mexicans... I asked if I could join them in their game of Chinese jumprope, and when I didn't quite perform up to par, oh, I heard about it! The ring leader of this little group, Alex, wasn't shy about letting me know how awful I was at her game. To be honest, I sort of felt like I was transported back to grade four and had just been mocked by the pretty, popular girl. Strange, but true. So I decided to man up, show them that I was, in fact, cool, and kick some Chinese jumprope ass!

And I did! I impressed them so much that they welcomed me into their posse. Alex was still a little apprehensive about me, but for whatever reason, I decided in that moment that she was my favourite. (Or did God decide that for me?)


The days passed and we had great fun together. I had managed to get to know these little girls; I asked them questions about their families and homes and the things they liked to do for fun, cuddled with them, giggled with them, and fell in love. They were exceptional. But my heart truly yearned for Alex -- the nine-year old girl with a fortress built around her heart. I just couldn't seem to connect with her like I did with the other girls, and yet strangely, she was the one I most wanted to love. Then, out of nowhere, during a post-lunch quiet time, God intervened.

The kids were all lying on their little mats scattered across the classroom floor, and I could see that some of the CSM youth were beside them, rubbing their backs and quietly whispering. I inched closer to Alex, who at this point still hadn't so much as smiled at me, and asked her if I could rub her back. I was surprised when she said yes. So there I sat, cross-legged and silent, while Alex lay on her side, her back facing me, and I rubbed her back. I started to ask her questions about her family and what her house was like. She was suddenly very honest and soft. She told me about them, about her parents and her brother, about the rat problem in her house and how she was afraid to open the oven because the last time she did, she found a family of dead rats inside. Alex said she never wanted to grow up and become an adult. I asked her why. She told me, in the most innocent yet worldly way, that adults worry all the time. They worry about paying the bills, worry about not having enough money, and worry that the police will show up at the house again. If someone were to take a photograph of Alex's perception of life, this was it. Anxiety. Poverty. Violence. Unrest.

I nearly cried when I heard such big ideas come from such a little girl. She was only nine, and it broke my heart that she already knew so much of the hardships of life. I immediately realized how blessed and gracious my childhood had been, especially in contrast to Alex's, and felt it unfair and confusing that she had to live like this. No child should ever dread growing up for these reasons. No child should have to live in the overflow of her parents' stress and anxiety. And when it really comes down to it, no child should ever have to be the victim of injustice.

These are the thoughts that stir in me when I think about Alex. I am so grateful for that small window of clarity and openness with her, because not only did I get to catch a small glimpse of her world, but I saw a piece of her heart. And consequently, the heart of so many children in the inner-city. We love until we break down walls, we love until injustice falls.