Ferguson

We watched 12 Years a Slave last night. (So much for a "nice relaxing date"!) Seeing vividly that much of "The American Dream" was certainly built upon hard work -- the brutal, merciless, torture and back-breaking labour of black slaves -- Hubby commented that this movie has been unpopular with many because it is a mirror, just as the following article says. The brokenness brought about by this horrific injustice, carried through the generations of recent history still etched into the wounded beaten-down souls of people whose spirits remain down-trodden, is crying out through the behaviour in Ferguson, Mississippi and is not going to disappear save through reconciliation by the grace of God. Throughout history, kingdoms have been raised up on the bodies and blood, by the tyranny of oppressors who hold the wealth... and America (and Canada) are no exceptions. My heart is heavy with these things today, and my back aches from the lashes the slave girl endured in the movie. Come, Lord Jesus.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elizabeth-broadbent/a-mothers-white-privilege_b_5698263.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000046&ir=Women

I am now the official spokesman for Cracker Barrel Cheese. Ok, I'm not, but I should be.

Cracker Barrel Herb and Garlic Cheese on Costco's multigrain tortilla chips is like driving a Lexus compared to limping around in the old jalopy of saltines and cheddar. Seriously, it gave my taste buds a tickle! As an added bonus, Cracker Barrel is Canadian-made, and doesn't have the additives and junk that other cheese has... AND it goes on sale at Extra Foods often enough that I never buy cheese at regular price. Food this delish should have legal limits.

A Wish and a Prayer

It's easy to dream and wish and decide its impossible. To dream and pray and take action...  That's another story.  I've dreamed.  I've prayed.  It's time for action.

I AM ME

Whatever size that I may be
I need to know that I am ME
Not only that, I've been made pure
By a loving God whose trust is sure

I'm becoming Me -- the me He saved
The Me for whom His life He gave
The devil tries to wreck our view
Lord, help us see us as You do

13 Years!

I am very blessed to have a wonderful man who understands me (sometimes!), says the right things (pretty often!), who hugs me when I need it (when he notices!), who rubs my sore foot -- and the other one to make it feel special too (almost daily!), who brings me Mars Bars (hint hint!) and who loves me with his whole heart (ALWAYS!!!!!). 

 I am SO in love with you Jimmy!  

Waiting for Perfection

I feel God-nudges in my soul.  He has been whispering.


You've got something to share with the world.

But God, don't You mean once my issues and struggles are dealt with and done?  Don't I have to be perfect first?  Or at least a little less messed-up?

No.  I use messed-up people.  I even used a donkey.

But I sit.  On hold.  Waiting for that "big moment" of healing, deliverance and freedom.  I sit in the shadow and let life pass me by.  I do not feel worthy to do anything or even to pray because I am keenly aware of my own demons that need to be conquered before I reach out to others.

But He speaks to me relentlessly...

No, Honey... I use messed-up people.  Let Me use you.

Dreams Re-Revisited

I wrote this a few years ago, and have already re-posted it once.  But I needed to again....

Please take the time to watch the following youtube video before reading the blog post - start to finish. It is well worth your time!! You will probably have to hit your back button on your browser to get back to the blog.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

I have watched Susan Boyle’s video at least ten times. And I cry every time. 

These are some of the lyrics to the song that she sang:

I Dreamed a Dream

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting

There was a time
Then it all went wrong

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed


This blog post is dedicated to all of us who have had our dreams turned to shame, for all of us who have been visited by “the tigers at night”. For those of us whose dreams were so vivid and bright and possible when we were young… but they somehow disappeared, got lost, were stolen, or were trampled underfoot by the misdeeds of men and the destructive work of the enemy of our souls.

“Life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

My personal experience has shown me that “life” is not always kind. But our lives are not destined to end the way of this song. There is no pain, no wound, no trauma that God cannot restore. It is never too late. What the enemy tried to steal and kill and destroy is the very thing that God wants to heal, restore and make whole. What is that dream? What is that purpose that God created you for?

Susan Boyle’s voice was held captive for 47 years. But when her time came, she shone before millions of people. It is your time to shine. Be brave. Has “life” crushed you? Have your dreams (or maybe even the very essence of who you are) been ripped to pieces? Are the things that should be bringing you joy, bringing shame and reproach instead? Has your heart been broken? It is time to find yourself. It is time to walk past the fears and the prejudices and the past and your circumstances that have held you captive. Isaiah 54:4 says, “Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood.” There comes a time that those things that have haunted you need to be put aside. It is time to look forward. It is your turn to shine. Don’t worry what anybody may say. Don’t listen to the jeering, taunting voices around you or within you. It’s time to take your stand.

God is in the business of restoring the impossibly shattered heart, of healing the mortal wound, of curing the incurable. Jeremiah 30:12 and 13 says, “This is what the Lord says: Your wound is incurable, your injury beyond healing. There is no one to plead your cause, no remedy for your sore, no healing for you. Why do you cry out over your wound, your pain that has no cure?” Two verses later, in Jeremiah 30:17, the Lord says, “But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds!” What is impossible for man is God’s specialty. So, dust off that dream and pull it out of the deep recesses of your inner closet. Put your life and your dreams into the hands of your Heavenly Father, the One who created you and put those dreams in you before you were even conceived. This is your day. When asked what advice she would give to those who want to pursue their dream, Susan Boyle said, “Just do it.” Yeah. Just do it. And then sit back and see what the Lord will do through you. No one was laughing after Ms. Boyle sang her first note. Take your stand. Just do it. God will showcase you for the sake of His Name.

Dentists!

CUTE AND FUNNY:
Caleb (age 9): "I really like our new dentist." 
Me: "Why?" 
Caleb: "Because he acknowledged the fact that I am very handsome." 
Me: "When he told you that you're handsome, how did you respond?" 
Caleb: "I said, 'Thank you. So what are you gonna do to me???' I kind of knew he was just saying that to help me relax, which didn't really work. But he is definitely right about me being handsome."
My poor Caleb has had teeth issues since they started coming in, and has been through some pretty rough dental visits... He's one tough cookie! 





NOT CUTE, NOT FUNNY:
I am not a tough cookie when it comes to dentists.  Searching on Google Images for a funny dentist cartoon for this post and looking at all those open mouths with various instruments of torture being inserted into them broke me into a cold sweat.  Speaking of dentists, I will be going on Thursday.  Oh Jesus.  I don't think anybody telling me how good-looking I am will help at this point.  Ativan, please.  I mean, pray for me please.  Or both.

Can these bones live?

I awoke this morning to the mental image of a skeleton, broken in pieces and lying on a dry, dusty, deserted road.  Then a voice asked me (with the deep, authoritative baritone of the man on the Bible tapes I heard as a child), "Tell me, can these bones live?"

Of course I was not about to be outdone by Ezekiel so I hastily replied, albeit with a hint of skepticism, "O Sovereign Lord, You alone know."

I didn't have to prophesy or anything.  God knew my limits and so, without further ado, He caused those bones to rattle and come together, bone to bone.  Tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them.  He breathed His breath into that body and it came to life.

Yep...  It was me.

Today, there is a spark of hope.  "A spark of hope" is not to be minimized... Hope is the essence of life itself.

Update: The Best and The Worst

Well, I have been turtling the last few weeks.  I crawled into my shell and have had a very hard time pulling out of it.  So, here I am to take a little peek out and let you have a glimpse in.  Rather than write a jumbled summary, I'm just going to write the best thing and worst thing that has happened since I wrote last.  This is not an edited blog post, I'm just jotting it down... It's all I can do right now, but I have been encouraged to write and even though I still feel like hiding in my turtle shell, I will make this attempt.

Good stuff:  My boys have had a hard time sleeping since we lost baby Judah.  They spent almost a week crying themselves to sleep.  One night, they both came out of their room crying and I got an idea... I let them use a flashlight under their covers and read their Bibles.  (This is something I used to sneak when I was a kid, and the primary reason I know the Word the way I do!)  I told them they can read until 10 p.m., wherever they want to.

About five minutes after I put them to bed, Silas came tearing out of his room yelling "God talked to me!  God talked to ME!!!"  He had opened his Bible to Isaiah 40:1 and 2 which says, "Comfort, comfort my people," says your God.  "Speak tenderly to Jerusalem.  Tell her that her sad days are gone."  He was pretty much laughing and crying at the same time.  He had really heard God's voice from the Scriptures for himself, and he knew it!  It is the most amazing thing that has happened to me as a mother who prays for her children to know God personally.

The next night, Silas said, "Open your Bible and see... Maybe He'll do it again!!!"  So, I opened the Bible randomly, and the verse was Psalm 94:18 and 19, "I cried out, "I am slipping!" but your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me.  When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer."  Silas and Caleb looked at each other and back to the Bible, mouths agape and eyes wide with wonder... "He did it again!  He did it again!"  They have not been able to put their Bibles down since, and have been reading them for about an hour every night, eager to hear what God is going to say to them next.  I noticed a bookmark in Silas' Bible in Isaiah 40, and he told me that he is always going to keep it there.

I see that, just as Joseph said, what the enemy meant for evil (the loss of Judah), God has brought good out of.  I almost feel guilty writing that, because even though I know I am not saying it was supposed to happen (because I don't believe that at all), and it is hard to see goodness in this situation even when it is staring me in the face.

Not-so-good stuff:  I have been not feeling well physically and have been fighting an infection since a week and a half after the miscarriage.  It has really knocked me out.  I have also been fighting a hopeless, sad, "depressed" feeling that is trying to settle deep in my gut.  I know full-well is not the "healthy process" of grieving or mourning... it is a heaviness that wants to stick and keep me stuck.  I am fighting it, but I am so tired.  Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.  Every which way.  I am just worn out and weary.  I am unable, at this point, to determine which of this is physical illness and what is that spirit of heaviness.  I am just absolutely fatigued.  I am feeling a little bit like the pot is simmering and if one more thing is added it will boil over.  I hate that feeling.

So far, I am hanging in there.  But things need to change soon.

There you go, blog requesters!  I have updated.  Sorry for the horrible overuse of commas, poor word usage and lack of creativity, but I am not editing right now...

Church

I awoke this morning to two fine young gentlemen smiling down at me; fully garbed in Sunday attire, breakfast eaten and teeth brushed.  "It's Sunday, Mommy!  Get up for church!"

Seriously?  I can't even answer phone calls right now.  How am I supposed to go to church?  So far, I've only managed to converse with my parents and my sister.  Church?  So many people?  I don't want to.  No, I CAN'T.  I can't talk to anybody.  I don't want to cry in public.  I don't want to look anybody in the eye.  I just DON'T WANT TO.  But what else could I do? 

I jump out of bed with feigned enthusiam, then realize that I'm pushing my limits as I start to get a little tunnel vision and have to lower myself to the floor for a moment to regain my bearings.  It looks like we're going to church....

And so we did. 

Jimmy was working and I just couldn't bear the thought of sitting alone after the boys go to kids' church, so I call my friend to ask if I can sit with her in church.  (Sounds a little jeuvenile, you may think... But WHATEVER.  Sometimes you just need someone beside you to help you feel a little more grounded and safe.)  She and her family had other plans for the day, but they changed them and came to church and sat with me.  ((((((HUGS TO YOU, MY DEAR FRIENDS))))))  I know, there are so many of you who would gladly have sat with me, and I am grateful to be surrounded by so many caring people.  But I just needed to know "the plan" before I got there, ya know?  So I cried through most of it and heard very little of the sermon since I was in my own little world, but felt very much comforted by the presence of my church family and the presence of the Comforter Himself.  I am grateful for hugs, for gentle, compassionate words, for your prayers, and for those who told me their stories too.  I'm glad God helped me put a voice to some of the turbulent emotions and memories and internal battles I am fighting and that He provided compassionate ears to hear them.  I'm glad I went. 

Thank you, Silas and Caleb, for dragging me to church today.

See you in heaven, Judah

My baby died a couple of days ago.  It was a boy.  His name was Judah.  We knew our next boy was going to be "Judah" for the last four years.  It stands for going ahead of the battle with a song of praise.  I know that is what God wants me to do now.  I'm not so far, to be honest.  I was almost three months along.  He was so tiny and so perfect.  I picked him up and made a little blankie and wrapped him up.  I held him until the doctor at the hospital took him away.  His hands were this big: O, with perfect fingers.  He had all his fingers and toes, and he was so perfect.  Every time I close my eyes, he is all I can see.  But I don't feel anything, I haven't cried, I haven't felt anything at all.  Well, I cried for a minute when I wrote my Facebook status.  And my eyes filled up today when I found that a little pillow one of my boys had made last month for his unborn sibling had been moved from its place.  I gave my boy a hug and said, "Do you want to save this pillow in case we have another baby?"  He looked at the floor and shook his head no.  I asked "Do you want to keep this pillow as a memory of your little brother?"  He started crying and nodded yes.  So I gave him a big hug, then put the little pillow by his pillow on his bed.  I want to help my boys grieve, and I want to be there for them, but I feel so empty myself.  I still feel like I'm in shock or something.  It happened three days ago.  Today, I have been re-organizing my house, and putting our newly-acquired baby stuff way under the stairs for long-term storage.  I'm going to finish painting our house (which I had to stop when I found out I was pregnant) and I'm going to clean.  I don't know what else to do.

The Light Around the Corner

It is one thing not to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It is another thing to not believe it is there at all.  That is where I have been at.  Thus the silent blog.  Not only was the light not visible, I had lost the perspective that this light even existed.  Vast black expanse... perhaps like the darkness before the world was created.  It is no coincidence that God created light before anything else.  Without light, there is no colour.  Without colour, there is no life.  Pure darkness consumes and sucks all semblance of life and breath.

To be honest, I still cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.  But I have come to realize that this journey has a lot of twists and turns.  Maybe the tunnel has a curve in it that is preventing me from seeing my destination.  A couple of days ago I was reminded that I carry a Light.  I need to turn it on.  It is the Word of God.  It only shines as far as my next step but believe me, after wandering and bumping around in the darkness, one short beam of light shines brightly!

So, how do I know there is a light at the end of the tunnel?  At this point, it doesn't matter.  What matters is that I keep going for another day.  What if I quit just one day too soon?  So, in God's strength, holding on to Him for dear life knowing that He is holding me even tighter, I will persevere.  Keep me going, Lord, keep me going.  Just one more day...  I can always go just one more day.

Quarters

My eyes watering from the putrid stench that filled my nostrils, I tried to find a spot clean enough to take the next step.  What have I done, bringing my children to this place?  Oh God!  I gripped my boys' hands tighter, trying to protect them from the sights and smells that were beating on our senses, until one of them cried out that I was hurting him.  "I'm so sorry, sweetie, I'm so sorry.  We just need to get out of here!"

We were in an old warehouse in the worst part of the worst part of town.  I had never seen anything like this in my life.  This is where the shunned, the sick and the incapable congregated to live out their final days in misery and desolation.  The place was covered with trash and excrement.  Most of the people living here were not even well enough to sit up and they lay in their own mess, crying out for help to any unfortunate person who happened to stumble upon this mass of decaying humanity.

I need to do something!  These people need my help!  What can I do?  What can I do? 

I reached into my pocket and pulled out some money.  I began to hand out quarters, loonies and cash to those we passed.  The Lord began to tug at my heart.  This was not right.  I was to help them, not appease my conscience by dishing out money to people who could not even get up to spend it!  What good is a quarter in the hands of a dying man?  But I ditched that thought and slowly continued my journey through the maze of mess that surrounded me.

Suddenly a man's hand reached out from under a fallen garbage bin and grabbed my youngest son's leg.  His whole body was a mass of oozing, bloody sores and I screamed at the man as we began a tug-of-war over my son's body.  "Let him go!!! Let him go!!!"  My health, strength and fearful adrenaline won out, and the man released his grip.  "We need to get out of here!  Are you O.K.?"  I looked down at my son, and his eyes were spilling over and his lips were quivering.  "I'm so sorry.  That was terrifying, wasn't it?"  I hugged and reassured him.  "No, Mommy.  He needs our help!  We need to help him.  We can't leave him there!"

"Son, that is so sweet that you want to help him.  Here, throw him a quarter and let's get out of here."  I handed my son a quarter and my heart lurched within me.  My conscience nagged incessantly and my heart dropped when my son looked up at me with tear-brimmed eyes and said, "But Mommy, he needs love."

"Give him the quarter and we are out of here.  That's all the love I've got to give today."

In grief, my little boy handed the man the quarter and turned anguished eyes to me.  "But please, Mommy, he needs love!"   

"Noooo!"  In a panic, I did not even wait for my children, but took off running.  As I ran, Jesus' words tumbled around in my head.  What you did for the least of these, you did for Me... Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy... You are the salt of the earth.  But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?  It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot... Do not judge, or you too will be judged.  For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you...  So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you... So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you... "Daughter, you need to obey.  You need to walk in obedience and love and stop your self-absorbed gratification of the flesh."  I ran faster, trying in vain to run from my own conscience.

As I fled, I stumbled over a garbage can and fell to one knee, badly scraping it.  I sat down for a moment, mumbling to myself about germs, infection and Polysporin.  A man walking past threw me a quarter.  So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you...  So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you...

"No! I am not one of them!  No!"  As I cried beseechingly, I picked up the quarter to throw it back at him.  In horror, I observed my hands.  Sores began to form, bleed, then ooze with pus.  I tried to shove the garbage can aside, but found that I was too weak.  "Oh God!  No!  No!  No..."  And I collapsed in the rubble.


God, I know You sent this dream as a wake-up call.  Help me to obey.  Help me to love.

Uranus Through the Eyes of an 8 Year Old

This was an actual conversation in our van on the way home from Melfort the other day:

(Jimmy is my  husband and Caleb is my 8 year old son.)

Jimmy:  Can you tell me something about the planet Venus? 

Caleb:  I do believe it's related to Uranus. (snorrrt... giggle)

Jimmy:  Ahem, I mean, what is the planet made up of? 

Caleb:  (snorrrrt... hahahah...)  I don't know, but I know that Uranus is surrounded by methane!  (Ahahah!!!) 

Jimmy (stifling a giggle of his own):  Did you know that the planet Venus has a hole with lava flowing out of it? 

Caleb (With as straight a face as possible):  If Uranus had something flowing out of it, it wouldn't be lava... 

OH FOR PETE'S SAKE!!!

I have to admit, I am impressed with my 8 year old's quick thinking skills, but seriously...

Christmas All Year Through

This time of year we think about

Christmas carols and Christmas trees,

And gifts and stockings and pumpkin pie,

Mashed potatoes and big turkeys.

We even think of baby Jesus

Lying in the hay,

With angels singing and cattle lowing

On that first Christmas day.



But when the day is done and the tree comes down

When we're full and our new toys break...

Will we remember Jesus

And the sacrifice He did make?

Jesus didn't stay a baby -

He gave His life for you.

And if you'll give your life to Him

He'll stay with you all year through.

I wrote this poem for my kids to read tonight at the Lost River Community Christmas Dinner and Talent Show.  I had looked for a Christmas poem for them to read, and couldn't find one I liked, so I figured I'd write my own!

Unravelling

Maybe once I finish unravelling completely God will knit me back together better than I was in the first place.  A new, improved Me.  How long does this take exactly?

Gardening, Perfectionism and Excuses

I am an anomaly in a family that comes from a long line of gardening perfectionists.  So when I moved back home (we share an acreage with my grandparents and my parents are just down the road, with their ever-watchful eyes perusing my yard care), it was a challenge for me to do things "right".  I am trying, really I am, but my lack of garden intuition sticks out like a sore thumb.  A big, green, sore thumb.  Because I do think that green thumb is in there.  Somewhere.  I enjoy gardening.  And in a way, I am even a perfectionist.  The problem is that if I can't do it perfect, it bothers me so much that I can't stand it and I tend to just give up altogether.  Weeding pretty much drives me crazy.  I enjoy the actual physical labour of it, but the fact that it is NEVER EVER DONE drives me totally up the wall.  I like jobs that I can look back over my work, pat myself on the back and say "Ahhhh... It's done."  Gardening is never done.  It has been a real challenge for me to hold my temper at these little thorns in my flesh (or not-so-little, depending on the duration of the neglect).  Harumph!!!  They seem to taunt me as I look back over my work and all I can see is what I missed... and the acres of work left to be done. 

Not only that, I am having a hard time catching the farm lingo and traditions that I thought I grew up with.  When I moved here, I thought that a perennial was a body part (and not one that you discuss in public)!  Thanks to my wise and informed Grandma, I have now been educated.  But I truly had no idea that little plants need so much TLC.  Well, not the plants as much as the surrounding dirt.  I have considered planting plastic flowers in the perennial  garden next year.  Then I can just pull them up when the garden needs weeding, till the weeds out with the tiller and then put the plastic flowers back, instead of having to pick or hoe around every single plant.  See?  I have solutions, but Mom and Grandma would have conniptions.   Hahahah! 

No.  I couldn't do it.  Even though these sorts of ideas come to mind, I couldn't possibly carry it through.  Maybe I really do have a genetic predisposition for the homesteading way of life.  What else could explain the satisfaction I get when I mill all my own flour or the sense of empowerment I feel when I chop my own kindling to heat our house? 

Why on earth am I discussing gardening in the middle of winter?  I have no idea, other than the fact that I really miss the warmth of summer.  But it has caused me to think about the many things in life I have missed out on because of my perfectionism.  The essays that I threw together last minute because I didn't want to say I really tried in case I didn't get 100%.  (Because 95% was just not good enough if I really tried.)  The piano lessons I cried through and then quit because I didn't think I was good enough.  Long division, which I have never learned how to do because I wasn't willing to try in case I failed and I refused to ask for help (we had moved, and the new class already knew how to do it).  The picture that I started drawing in grade 9 that I worked on for a few months... and then threw out a few days before completion because it wasn't quite good enough.  And yes, I can pick up a flute and just play it.  But imagine if, over the years, I actually practiced and tried to improve instead of just practicing last-minute for performances I was invited to play in?  Maybe I would have excelled, rather than just being "pretty good".  Maybe if the emphasis, after my first performance at Caronport wasn't "she's only been playing the flute for two months", maybe then I would have learned that to truly reach the potential that God wants, it is worth the effort to try without fear of failure.  (Because I would always say, "I've never really taken lessons and I just saw this music a couple of days ago, so please excuse my mistakes.")  Excuses, instead of effort.

I see this same tendency in my kids.  To say God wants our best, is true.  To say God thinks our best has to be perfect, is not.  A lot of things come easy for my boys.  So many things, in fact, that if they come across any sort of difficulty they unravel because they have no idea what to do.  And I have such a hard time knowing what to say, because I feel it with them.  But we need to learn that even if we can't do something perfect the first time, we gotta keep on trying and improving, finding joy in the fact that we are attempting a real challenge.  I want them to know that there can be greater satisfaction in working hard for something that doesn't turn out "perfect" than for completing a project to perfection with no effort.  And, that its ok not to do things exactly like everybody else does. 

I wonder if I have to learn these things before I can teach it to my kids?  Or maybe we can work on it together. 

Meanwhile, I need to go water my houseplants.  I forgot to water them last week.  Due to that mistake, I had decided they will probably die and I gave up on them but for some reason they're not dead yet.  Maybe this is an opportunity to work on my all or nothing mentality!

Neat little boxes... Or at least they used to be.

(Just to give fair warning... This post has hardly been edited. I just typed it straight out of my head and threw it on the blog before I had a chance to chicken out!!!)

My life has always been neatly sorted into little boxes, organized on shelves to be opened when convenient and "safe". One box for Hubby and Kids. One box for church. One box for extended family. One box for incessantly smiling and chatting to anyone on the street who crosses my path. One box for each of the many aspects of my past. One box for my health and body. One box for my emotions. Different boxes for various friends. One box for Facebook (hahahah!!). No, really. One box for Facebook. Maybe even another for this sadly forsaken blog. One box for God. No. Not one box for God. He moves freely throughout the boxes in which I have given Him reign. However, there are spaces in my soul that I have managed to stash into well-sealed packages, neatly stored in the deep recesses of my soul on a dusty shelf where even I forget about them sometimes. These are places that God has prodded with gentle nudges, telling me that He would like to shine His light on these hidden things. But they are not so pleasant and, being prone to ostrichness (sticking my head in the sand), I have generally shied away from His hints that these things would be better off opened up and dealt with once and for all. But seriously, the vulnerability of considering such things is unfathomable to me.


And so it has been a rather disconcerting thing, finding myself in the middle of such a mess. The mess being the fact that as of late my boxes have been, spontaneously and of their own accord, exploding. Exploding wide open and then attempting to enmesh themselves with each other. This I find disturbing. Very disturbing. And what I find most shocking is the fact that God seems to be well-pleased with this occurance and appears to be setting up these explosions in increasing measure. What is the plan here? What is the idea, merging my worlds so that I am uncomfortably accountable for more than one compartment at a time? But I guess moving forward, maturing and growing wasn't supposed to be comfortable, was it? This exploding and merging is requiring vulnerability on my part. I don't like that. I tend to run from vulnerability.


Here is an example. Two years ago I ended up with a high fever and landed myself in the hospital. Did I call my family? No. Did I call my friends and ask them to pray? No. I did get up the nerve to call my pastor, but asked him not to tell anyone else. And yes, my Hubby knew! (Duh!) But my boxes -- friends, family, church, and health -- remained intact, separate from each other. I recovered, and although it took about a month to get back to normal, few people knew this happened. I didn't even call home until well after the fact. (Funny thing about me, I don't usually mind telling people things in past tense, such as, "Guess what happened to me last month...")


Well, guess what happened to me last month? No really, something happened and I know it's past tense, but its relatively recent, so consider yourself fortunate to be privvy to such information...


I ended up with a fever and landed myself in the hospital. The thing about this was, my boxes pretty much exploded this time. First of all, let me tell you, being in the hospital is an extremely unnerving and vulnerable experience. If you have ever been admitted to hospital, you will know that they ask you everything. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Not only that, they ask you loudly and both their questions and your whispered answers somehow manage to echo and reverberate down the hallways and into other patients' rooms. (I know this because I heard the echos of other patients being admitted. So, fellow patients... I know all about you and you know all about me. Let's keep these things to ourselves, shall we?!?) Anyways... So, I was rather taken aback by the fact that even my... ummm... digestive system was thoroughly discussed. In fact, the nurses seemed fixated on that particular system, which by day three had me completely disgruntled, as this is not something I am willing to discuss with anybody, let alone complete strangers. (As a side note I asked my Hubby, who happens to be a nurse, if the nurses where he worked are as obsessed with bodily functions. Apparently so, because he gave me a blank stare and said, "Uhhhhh, yeah." I'm thinking he could have given me fair warning before my hospital stay, but unfortunately he has become so desensitized to such things that it didn't even occur to him.) Yeah, anyways. Vulernability. Yes. Very very vulnerable. And then, to make matters worse, some of the hospital staff looked familiar. You can't really escape this fact in a small town. Yet another merging of my worlds. Eeeeeekkk!


So, we went to a new church on Sunday. And guess who was there? People who work at the hospital. One lady approaches me and says, "Hi Stephanie." It took me a moment before I realized who she was. Then I almost fell over! My first thought was, "I think its time to move." My second thought (and you can insert incredulous laughter here) was "At least it wasn't my doctor." But no. God knows my limits. He's not going to push me in this box-exploding thing further than I can handle. Right, God? At the moment, I'm thinking its time for a little break, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there's more coming. So, I'm bracing myself for the next explosion. If I was to be completely honest with myself, I can see God's light starting to peek into those hidden places and maybe there is a point to this. I just don't quite get it yet. Does this post even make sense???

Consistency

I would like to teach you all about consistency. If you want to have a successful blog, consistency is what it’s all about. No one wants to go to your blog only to discover that you have posted nothing for months. They will stop checking it and give up. Not only that, if you are sporadic and suddenly bombard your readers with five posts a day they will become overwhelmed.  This might short circuit their brains and they will never read your blog again because they will be terrified of the overstimulation.


The blog you see here is a typical example of what NOT to do. So please, take a lesson from this atrocious behaviour:  Be consistent.