optimism or hope?

Thanks to my Masters courses and recent personal experiences, I've been reflecting a lot lately on the idea of hardship and suffering. I think that when you have some pretty tough stuff thrown at you, it's natural to start to think about the why's and how's and what-if's a lot more often than you do when everything is smooth sailing. Throughout the past few weeks, I've finally been able to admit how hard it is for me to let myself experience my brokenness. There's this little voice inside me that says I should have it all together, especially now that I'm in this position of learning how to professionally counsel hurting people. That if I expect to be a strong force in this world, an advocate for the broken, a ray of light in a dark room, I should have my shit together. (Translation: be perfect.) Right? No, not right. Not right at all. When I listen to that voice, all it does for me is remind of how much I'm failing to attain this impossible standard, fuels the pressure to somehow live up to it, and denies the rawness of my experience. And I think I'm finally at the end of my quickly fraying rope trying to do that.

My gut tells me that when it really comes down to it, all I want is wholeness. This isn't crazy or unrealistic or some fantastic pipe dream. This is actually what God intended for us when He made us in His perfect image, and obviously we're not living in that place. We're broken, we're affected by the hurtful actions of others, and heck, we're trying our best to make do and even rise above it all. But it doesn't somehow make us immune to pain. We're broken people in a beautiful world held hostage by sin. I'm really drawn to the story of Job these days -- especially the part when Job loses everything good in his life and rather than hiding his feelings about it, shouts out to God and tells him just what he thinks about this bunk. I love even more the part when God listens and loves him and gives everything back -- and more. God knows He's God. He has no reason to be insecure when we question or doubt Him, and I absolutely love that He's OK with our honesty. In fact, I think He loves it.

And the funny thing is, when I've opened myself up to honesty, both to God and to myself, I feel this wave of hope come over me. Because I've freed myself from trying to be optimistic and "spiritual" and only half-truthful with myself, and instead chosen to see the promise of God alive in my story. So I'm going to let myself wade around in this for a while, giving myself permission to be human and recognizing that to feel the mess is to live. But I'm also going to remember to hope. Because Jesus has already bought my freedom and victory. And while I may not see it in its fullness this side of heaven, I will see it one day. That's hope.

jasper.

If you read the title of this post, you've just read the name of our new dog! Jasper is a big old bumbling mess of legs and slobber, but it's amazing how much we already love him.

Back in August, David contacted a Weimaraner rescue society to inquire about any dogs that were in need of adoption. At the time, there weren't any, so we kind of put the idea out of our minds. Well, I did at least. (I'm learning that the secret inner life of my husband is actually quite active, and when his wheels get turning, there's no stopping him!) A few weeks ago, to our surprise, the woman from the rescue society emailed to tell us there was a four-year old male in need of a new home, as his owner was recently diagnosed with lupus and was unable to take care of him anymore. She said that because of the urgent nature of the situation, if we wanted him, we'd have to take him the next day. I panicked -- we weren't ready for a dog! We hadn't even asked our landlord for permission. Plus, I just couldn't commit to a dog being dropped off at our doorstep in twelve hours. Reluctantly, we said we couldn't take him that soon, so the woman told us she was sending him to a kennel a couple of hours away until the breeder was back from her holiday. (Apparently it's protocol to return your dog back to its breeder if you're unable to care for it.) It would be our responsibility to chat with the breeder later and discuss whether or not this was going to work for all of us.

About two weeks passed and we still hadn't heard from the breeder. To be honest, I sort of figured it wouldn't work out, maybe partly because of my apprehension (or pessimism) toward getting a dog. Then last week, I arrived home after class to a very happy husband who told me that the dog was ours and all we needed to do was drive out to the breeder to pick him up! As much as I hesitated on the inside, the excitement on David's face was just too adorable for me to fight this... After all, I did tell him months ago that I'd let him get a dog if we ended up moving to Winnipeg. ;) So, off to the country we went.

And now we have member number three of the McKay family, Jasper the Weimaraner. It's been both fun and frustrating getting used to this new transition in our life. He's a great dog -- so sweet and friendly and honestly just wants your lovin' ALL the time. He's trained already, which is a serious bonus when you're a new dog-owner, and apart from this weird thing he does when he's excited where he "smiles" (aka. shows his teeth and chomps at the air), he's actually the perfect dog. He definitely challenges my need for space, though, because when I get home and all he wants to do is play and be rubbed, I have to really step outside myself to give him that nurturing. Crazy that a dog can teach you a lesson about selflessness, huh? But he does. And I foresee him continuing to teach me that lesson over and over again during the next few years he's with us.

The neatest part of this whole story is that Jasper has been David's dream dog for a long time, but one we always knew we wouldn't be able to afford or be willing to fork out the money for, for that matter (these dogs cost at least $800!). And here we are, freely given this amazingly sweet, purebred Weimaraner. God is gracious, even in the small things.

newness.

I came across a gorgeous site that offers the cutest free blog backgrounds and I just couldn't help myself. It felt a little bit like blogger heaven, to be honest. (Does that sentence make me a nerd? Probably.) So, what do you think? Sometimes it's nice to spruce things up a bit, and I think my life could use a little colour these days.

So here's to a new design and hopefully the start of a new season!

august.

So it's official: I am the worst blogger ever. We've been in Winnipeg for almost six weeks now, and believe me when I say there has been plenty to write about, but you know that paralyzed feeling you get when everything seems to happen at once and you just don't quite know how to process it all? That's been me.

OK, here's my moment of truth: It seems that ever since we set foot on prairie soil, nothing much has gone according to what we hoped for or expected. It's been one long month of rejection, frustration, second-guessing, and disappointment. Getting here was already a stretch for our emotional and spiritual muscles, but after believing everything would work out as soon as we took the leap and instead, watched it all fall apart, well, that was just too much. A lot of tears, a lot of doubt, and a whole lot of missing home was the stuff August was made of. We assumed we'd find a place to live within a couple of weeks at most, but after applying to several apartments and being told we didn't qualify, we started to feel pretty discouraged. We also assumed that the job David had lined up with a local church would be the place where he was meant to serve, but after a pretty horrible and hurtful experience, we found out otherwise, and again, more discouragement. We took a few good hard hits this month, my friends, and to be honest, we're still reeling from the whole thing.

So all this to say, it's been one hell of a month! It's been uncomfortable and unsettling and frustrating and so not what we planned, but thank God He's giving me perspective and the chance to just step back from it all, take a deep breath, and see His goodness. Because this is the good I see:

When no one would accept us as tenants, my best friend's dad (God bless his soul), bought us a house so we could rent from him instead. You heard me. The man bought us a house. When we thought we'd be spending the next two years in a cramped and smelly apartment, we now have our very own cozy little home with a backyard and a sundeck and a garage and a mailbox. My friend's dad saw a need he knew he could fill, and he filled it. God's goodness.

When we had nowhere to live for four whole weeks, these same parents welcomed us into their home, fed us their food, included us at family dinners and at the family cabin, not at all expecting we'd be there as long as we were but making sure we knew we were welcome. God's goodness.

When we were discouraged and missing home and desperately needing community, my best friend Heather and her husband made us brunch, listened over coffee, showed us the city, and welcomed us into their own friendships. God's goodness.

I can't lie and say that I haven't questioned God's purpose in all of this. I've definitely had it out with Him and wondered why this has to be so hard, so impossibly and annoyingly hard, why we didn't just choose to stay home where things were safe and familiar and maybe stagnant, but comfortable. But then I remember this prayer I've prayed for most of my adult life, the one that goes something like this: "God, do something deep in my life. Take me places that aren't ordinary or easy for easy's sake. I want to know you more." And then I think, well, what did I expect?

The truth is, while I don't want to be obsessed with comfort and familiarity, I probably am. I tell God I want an unordinary life, but when the unordinary happens, I'm angry and I feel jilted. Of course it's human, and I can't expect much more of myself (ah, the classic struggle of the perfectionist!), but I can make the effort to see beyond the circumstance. That I can do.


In other news, yesterday was my first official day at grad school. Can you believe it? There's another example of God's goodness! It was good and slightly overwhelming but at some point during my fifth hour of theology class, it hit me. I'm doing this. I'm actually seeing the dream come to fruition, and it's good! That in itself makes the pain of the past few weeks worth it - almost...

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?