To whom I would send flowers on Mothers Day

Of all the days of the year, the most painful for me happens to be Mother’s Day. I figured I’d get over it when I had children of my own, but I’m still not quite there yet (even though someone told my daughter about breakfast in bed and she has been trying to find out all week which cereal I would pick, in her own sneaky way, and has requested ever so kindly that I make sure that on Saturday night the ‘milk is on the bottom shelf of the fridge where she can reach it, and isn’t too full’). When all the hallmark commercials jewellery ads and spa flyers start up, there is suddenly list of things people thank mothers for and it breaks my heart. I lost my mom to cancer when I was little, and while there have been many incredible people in my life, no one else can take this place. It occurred to me today that the most painful part of this for me is the memories of all the moment in which I wish I had had a mother to talk to, to be with, to ask questions to. That I can’t fix. The second thing is an unbounding gratitude in my heart and no particular person upon which to lavish it. That I know I can remedy in a small way. So here it is. If I had the courage (and maybe someday I will) there are so many people to whom I would like to send flowers on Mothers Day- almost too many to count!

To the woman who taught me how to take a compliment, though it took a long time

To the two unlikely men who taught me it was okay to cry, and often necessary

To the woman who taught me to love making food

To the man who taught me, without trying to, the value of tenacity and holding ones ground until adversaries had moved on

To the woman who showed me that life lived by God’s Word was going to look weird sometimes, but was worth it

To the woman who showed me what joy really looks like

To the woman who reminded me that life is allowed to be fun

To the woman who made me take one of the most frightening risks in my life because she knew I had it in me

To the man who taught me the way to freedom is to praise God for the darkest times in my life (to whom I will forever be indebted)

To the man who showed me the healing power of poetry, writing and listening to those words inside my head instead of shutting them out

To the woman who gave me countless chances to be a leader long before anyone else thought I was really ready

To the woman who walked with me in prayer for a few weeks of my life and forever changed how I saw God
To the woman who taught me that being feminine and submissive didn’t have to mean being stupid

To the three woman who taught me about inductive Bible Study and gave me a level of wisdom to aspire to.

To the woman who was not afraid of my weaknesses and not afraid to show me hers as well

To three women who are so madly in love with their husbands that I have learned much from them about loving my own

To the woman who encouraged me to seek God for the paths I should take in parenting rather than books and manuals and rules

To the woman who taught me that hospitality is not about having a spotless house

To the two women who I respect so much as mothers of their children who have given me courage and perseverance

To the man who gave me permission to not live like I was dying just because my mother had died so young – and gave me permission to live my own life

And countless more. To all of you, I thank you. Happy Mother’s Day.

In my heart I celebrate all the incredible people –men and women- God has brought into my life, to lead and guide and teach me, to talk and walk and laugh with me.

And to all of you who are Mothers – never once doubt how important you are in the life of your child, whether they acknowledge it or not. The absence of my mom is an absence I feel every day of my life. Happy Mothers Day.

What Choir has Taught Me

So for the last year and a half every Thursday night you can find me at choir practice. Being a member of the church choir is just the right amount of being involved and being an invisible face in the crowd to attract me. There’s a part of me that only feels alive when I’m singing. Plus, it’s a few hours of the week where I don’t have to worry about the details of my household, the status of laundry, where my children last placed there beloved whatchamacallit and instead to just loose myself in something that works my body and brain enough for me to stop thinking for a while (that’s a rare thing!)

Recently, I was thinking (while not at choir) about how choir has changed the way I think in several important areas of my life, and whether you can relate to this experience or not I’d like to share with you some of what I’m learning.

1. People are allowed to be wrong.

Our choir director has a happy habit of saying “Always trust your conductor and never trust your conductor”. I guess you’d have to know him to hear how this comes out – two true statements expressed with equal certainty. But it is true. For months our conductor forgot to bring in the choir on a set of ‘oooooos’ behind the soloist. If we relied on him, we would never have come in. Once he brought us in when according to our score, we had a few bars to go– and it was good that we didn’t follow him – but for the most party the conductor is very trustworthy.

I’m a big fan of authority. Really, really am. I would make a first-rate golden retriever. When someone ‘in charge’ gives me a job to do, my husband says he can see my invisible tail wag in happiness. So I love having someone tell me what to sing and how to sing it. The flip side of this of course is that I have great difficulty accepting that people – especially people I admire in any way- make mistakes. But somehow choir is beginning to teach me to balance the ‘always trust’ with a little ‘never trust’ and realize that only my God is infallible and people are allowed to make mistakes (even me).

2. Half- Voices from the choir don’t make the soloist sound better.

A new friend and I were talking last night about what we really hate about women sometimes. Mostly the fact that we always feel like we have to make ourselves less, hide who we really are so as not to make others feel badly about themselves. We both feel easier around men because we don’t have to constantly put ourselves down to maintain conversation. (If this is not your experience, consider yourself blessed to have a group of friends who lets you be who you are!) In choir, I am always fighting myself not to have a timid voice. I can sing with a very full voice when I want to, but I am often afraid to be heard over others in my section or that I might sing a wrong note. Our choir director has been urging us lately to sing with full voices, to be unafraid, and make mistakes loudly. This goes against everything I’ve always been – but I’ve just realized that a whole lot of dim half-voices from the choir doesn’t make the soloist sound any better. It’s all of us singing with all we are that makes the best sound. I saw a quote somewhere to this effect once – the woods would be silent if only but the best bird sang. Something like that. I’m sure it’s on a mug or a cross stitched wall hanging somewhere. Anyway, I know that when the rest of my section is belting it, I feel free to do the same. Being strong in who I am can have the effect of helping others to shine brightly too, and doesn’t diminish them. I’m trying not to be afraid of being a leader, being smart, feeling pretty, being good at stuff. That’s singing my part well, with all I am and all God made me.

3. I am not alone.

I like people. They also make me want to hide under my bed make me nervous. I would usually prefer to go for days without talking to anyone outside my immediate family. But a choir’s sound (and I love the sound of a choir as much as I do the sounds that leave my friends around a campfire) is reliant on not just a lot of voices, but a lot of voices that are very very different listening to one another. (If this isn’t the best training for being a good church member or member of any community really, I don’t know what is!). I think about the neighbours I live around – and realize it’s the neighbours that have asked me for help (walking their dog when they are out of town, building a patio, watching their children) who I am closest with. They weren’t afraid to show me they had a weakness and ask for help, and I respond – and I feel free to ask things of them. It is good to remember we all need to help each other – as much as I need the alto section to know when my little second soprano part comes in. Being in a choir reminds me that all day, every day of my life I am surrounded by people. I need those people to accomplish anything, and they need me. If I am feeling alone – it’s as simple as acknowledging that I need them and they need me and opening my front door to find someone I can help.

So that’s it. I’m looking forward to a new short post-Easter choir season beginning shortly, and I’m anxiously waiting to see what God has for me in it. And this is what I’ve been learning so far. What has God been teaching you lately?

Learning Hospitality

I have 2 dozen chocolate chunk cookies in a lovely container and a chicken pie sitting in my freezer. I made them the weekend before last with the intention of dropping them off to my neighbour who is going through a very difficult time right now and would probably appreciate them. But they are still here, because, well, I think I just didn’t have enough courage to go knock on her door. Terrified is probably a better word. Terrified that my efforts at loving her family will be laughed at, or rejected. And yet, this is what I asked God for… practice learning to love people.

 

So the cookies are too stale to give anyone now, but I’ve moved on in my ambitious quest to learn how to be hospitable. Last Saturday I had some people over for dinner, and I think it went fairly well. After telling a number of different people “we’d love to have your family over for dinner!” and hearing “we’re very busy” over and over, one family finally said “we’re busy. But we could make it work”. So I went with that. All day I practiced things to talk about, and practiced breathing deeply, and we had a completely wonderful time except for the fact that I completely forgot to offer coffee and tea after dinner, and have been beating myself up about that since then.  Now I am still afraid to try the cycle over again and ask around to see who might be able to come but I have had one more success than failure. I’m getting excited about the warmer weather because that means we might be able to use our backyard space and invite somewhat large families over that simply can’t be accommodated around my little dining room table!

 

I thought I was ready for a bigger step, but it turns out I am freaking out just a little bit.

I decided a great way to practice hospitality would be to host a party – one of those selling-something parties where all I do is make some food and clean and people have a reason to come more than my witty banter (which is frankly rare).  I was talked into it by two different friends who really wanted to come to something like this, so I took the plunge. My Usborne Book Party is tomorrow night. I really wish I could stop worrying so much about it! Yes it’s very small and the people who previously committed to coming are now phoning to cancel. I’m just hoping I can make it through this, and remember the things I’m supposed to about offering food and drinks and making people feel comfortable in my home!

 

This is another little thing about hospitality I’m learning – having a spotless house and the best food doesn’t necessarily make people very comfortable at all. Being real does.

My daughter’s Kindergarten Prep class started meeting two months ago, and the first day I dressed her in her best, and put on what I would normally wear on a Sunday. I wore makeup, I straightened my hair, I wore good shoes. And not one person there talked to me. As I looked around the other moms were mostly in sweats and not one of them wore makeup. Most of them were considerably older than me, and they all looked like they knew so much more than me. I didn’t blame them for moving on quickly after I said hello. The next week I wore my normal day clothes (I still wore makeup, but only because I feel more nervous without it) and suddenly everyone was friendly!

I guess I’m guilty of this too. My friends with immaculate houses I would never in a million years invite to mine. I’m sure they would find it a disgrace. And I don’t feel comfortable there – like anything I do is going to disorder their perfect world.

 

I’m writing this post mostly to myself so that when I come and look back a year from now I can laugh at how I used to struggle so much with this. With the pride that is thinking too little of myself with the fear of others judgment of my life with the cluelessness I feel in loving others well. I pray that as I push myself through this mess something on the otherside will give glory to God. Maybe helping others to be comfortable here means being clean, and putting others first but more importantly being real. Maybe hospitality is more about the effort than the outcome. Maybe I’ll make it through Wednesday night!

 

 

 

 

My Kids are Crazy

I think it's every mom's responsibility to think her children are special and brilliant and unlike every other child in the whole world. Let me tell you that I am aware of this, and aware it sounds just plain annoying to non-mom's and even other mom's. So take all I say here knowing that I know that about myself. 

While I think my kids are both special and brilliant I also think they are crazy.

Take last night for example. 

Miranda has been learning how to read this month, and while she can make it through the first half of the Bob Books set 1, she has become far more interested in learning how to read and spell words that are in here sphere of interest. Words like play, though we haven't got into vowel blends yet, are very interesting to her, so we go with it. 

So last night Jason and I were sitting in the living room talking while he plugged in the laptop and got some other things ready for a Missionary recruiting gig he has today, we heard a fury of footsteps above our head that sounded like Miranda running from her bedroom to the stairs, and back to her bed again. So Jason went up to see what the fuss was all about. On the top of the stairs was a note. 

I    EPy

MiRANDA

Jason laughed to himself and went into her room for the translation. The story is, apparently, that she had dropped her precious stuffed puppy, and didn't know where he was. She missed puppy. She knew she wasn't to get out of her room to tell us about this (this has happened before) so she wrote us a note so that we would know when we came upstairs. She intended to write "I miss puppy" but she couldn't think of the word for 'miss' and she tried to spell puppy herself! We'll have to work on reading that word today. :) Jason was good not to burst into a fit of laughter while up there with her, but we laughed a great deal downstairs afterwards. I think it's great that she thought to write a note. What I don't understand is what would make her mind think that instead of getting off her bed to pick puppy off the ground, she would be better served by searching her room for a paper and pencil and writing us a NOTE and then leaving it on the stairs and scurrying back to bed?? Really!

Now Simon on the other hand is doing weird things too. It must be all these days in a row each week stuck inside our house.  He's mostly past his toilet-diving phase and but is still really fascinated by the bathroom. Two days ago, he wiggled free of my grasp and crawled up the stairs at lightning speed. I went after him only to find him in the bathroom, up on Miranda's bathroom stool, with his toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. He needed to brush his teeth, I guess! Since then he's been up there brushing 4-5 times a day. Anytime we're on the top floor, really. And at 14 months he's way better at it than Miranda was up until just recently! The kid has a thing for orall hygine, I guess! He also may be toilet trained before he is two. He is very curious of toilet useage, but lately only when Jason goes. Yesterday, as I was brushing my own teeth in the bathroom, Simon pushed the stool up to the toilet, stepped up onto it, pulled down his pants and was trying to figure out how to undo is diaper! The sight of him trying to pee like a big boy nearly made me fall over with laughter! Wow. I hvae to remind myself that at this age Miranda hadn't even taken her first steps! The two of them are so different it's hard to beleive they are related!

My kids are crazy. They make me laugh. 

Painting Pictures of Egypt

So there is this place that my mind goes back to when I’m beginning to panic and I’m trying to hold back tears. And a place I am reminded of in my sweetest moments. This place feels like bare feet stretched out in long grass, like the smell of a summer forest after a fierce rainstorm, like warm river water washing over my shoulders, like the feeling of complete and utter freedom in waking up from a night sleep under the full moon and stars. It is a place where I first discovered the communion that is possible when friends shed the masks and layers of youthful self consciousness until all that remains is the nakedness of words and the truth of our souls laid bare before one another by firelight. It is a place where I discovered that there are others who are willing to care about me unconditionally and be concerned enough with my soul to shepherd and mentor me and give of their life to me for God’s sake. It’s a place I learned not just to believe in myself- though that began to happen-, but to believe in God.

And it is a place I was given, though I didn’t deserve it, leadership and opportunity to give of myself and serve Jesus until there were days when I wasn’t even conscious of myself – just the community of believers and those we served. I was wood consumed in the fire, joyfully, having tasted that place never wanting to return to the world outside. The rhythm of the day could not be replicated elsewhere… I had formal times of prayer alone or with others no less than 12 times a day – taught 3 hours of Bible study and leadership classes, was taught and mentored for an hour, and found myself doing all matter of tasks in between from washing dishes and toilets to leading songs and telling stories, to writing curriculum and leading children to Christ. I saw miracle after miracle there. My muscles were strong and my skin dark from the sun.

I met people there unlike any I’ve ever found elsewhere. I found people like me. I found a place where I didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hide, didn’t have to try so hard to figure out the game that I forgot to laugh. I hold onto the remembrance of this place fiercely.

A few weeks ago I was in the car, praying and thinking as Jason drove and the kids slept and I had put on a new cd that a friend had given to me – Sara Groves Conversations. And I was just praying for Camp Cherith (the place I went to camp every summer for 8 years as a child, and spent 10 summers of my life as staff) that God might give me a chance to return there in some way, or find a way that I can help the ministry of the camp from where I am.

And this song comes on : Painting Pictures of Egypt. And being the first time I’d ever heard this song, the following lyrics struck me like a blow to the stomach:

And the places I long for the most
Are the places where I’ve been
They are calling out to me
Like a long lost friend

And the place I was wasn’t perfect
But I had found a way to live
And it wasn’t milk or honey
But then neither is this

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,
Leaving out what it lacks
The future feels so hard,
And I wanna go back!
But the places that used to fit me,
Cannot hold the things I've learned
Those roads were closed off to me
While my back was turned!

And it definetly struck me – I have been complaining to God and begging him to show me how to be fruitful where I am, because daily I am frustrated at feeling worthless, fruitless, living a life void of purpose which is the exact opposite of how I should be spending my days! But perhaps the reason I cannot be fruitful in any of the endeavors I have tried to pour myself into here – on the other side (post-Cherith) is because I haven’t let go. And I haven’t come to accept that there may be other things for me to do and to be now.

Maybe I have to accept that for a long while, it might look like nothing.

Five years ago, it was about this time that I was sitting in the auditorium of Willow Creek church, watching a gangly man with a charming voice prepare to address 5 thousand children’s ministry workers and explain in words we could understand what had lead to the downfall of Big Idea. I feel blessed to this day to have heard Phil Vischer speak. He told of his chase after a vision he thought he was supposed to have and how it ruined his life and the lives of hundreds around him, and that God pulled him from that wreak to show him that now, where he is in 5 years is not his business, it’s God’s. It is interesting in the Christian world today – especially in some ministry circles it is pretty cool to have a ‘vision’ to deal with strategic planning to have a growth plan and to treat God’s work that you just happen to be a part of as something you can actually control by reading enough books by John C. Maxwell. I was getting on that train myself. I had plans and a vision for myself in children’s ministry. I thought if I worked hard enough at it, read the right stuff I would actually begin to like it as much as I LOVED working at Cherith and I would have success and fruit and I had my plan as to how I was going to get ‘there’. Well, Phil up on that stage, who is as successful as any Christian these days could possibly get posed the question : For the first 100 years of his life, what did Noah do to prepare for his BIG JOB of building the ark? Huh. I don’t remember anything in my Sunday School memory of the first 100 years of Noah’s life. No mention of shipbuilding school, zoology degrees, internships with the great carpenters. All the Bible tells us is that for one hundred years Noah walked with God. That’s all. And he didn’t try and plan it, create a strategic plan to get himself there. It happened to him, because he was walking with God.

Phil Vischer – creator of Veggie Tales - now has a new company – Jellyfish Media. He chose the Jellyfish because it is unable to locomote – all it can do is go where the tides take it.

Reminding myself of this doesn’t stop the nostalgia for a place where I felt loved, and fruitful, and useful to God. A place where I was in constant community. But it seems I have a lot of praying to do about this. Now is not the right time in the life of my family to give myself over to a ministry, no matter how much I believe in it. Now is the time to simply walk with God. And it might mean I never get to go back there. Being in the wilderness for a while is okay, and won’t last as long if I am following God. And of course – at the other end is what?

Hope.

The promised land.

Whatever it looks like I must remind myself if where I have come from was so beautiful, My God will provide beauty in the now, and the what is to come too.

Less Nuts is Good (some logical notation and a few recipes)

This is something you would learn about me if you baked anything with me. I like to add more of stuff. TO everything. I somehow feel that I must make every recipe better so people say 'MMMmm this is the best cupcake/brownie/cookie/soup/turkey/chickencordonbleu I've ever tasted! it's kind of what I've got time to be good at around here, so I do what I can. It drives my brother crazy - he's a good cook and a decent baker when he wants to be, but he's worked in restaurants and is pretty much trained to follow the recipe. Me? I never make anything the same twice. It usually has to be 'improved'.

Which is probably why my bisoctti has NEVER worked.
Okay, so the first year wasn't that horrible (probably because Erika or Thea were there with me to keep me reasonable). But every subsequent year, we've had biscotti disaster. This year, it struck me.
Maybe when the recipe SAYS to use 3/4 of a cup of pistachios, it really MEANS 3/4 of a cup pistachios and I should not add an extra half a cup to make it 'better'.

WOW.

So I gave it a try this year, and followed the recipe. And guess what? Most beautiful biscotti EVER! It didn't crumble to a million tasty pieces when I tried to slice it because it didn't have too many nuts. It sliced and baked beautifully (and if I hadn't forgotten about that last tray I'd have four dozen lightly golden slices right now instead of three...we'll work on that for next year).

I guess I had formulated the fallacy in my brain that

I guess I had formulated the fallacy in my brain that if nuts are yummy then more nuts will equal more yummy (formal notation deleted, because it fights  with the html in my post and I don't have a clue how to rectify it)

. My logic’s a little rusty. But I wanted to share this because I can see this year that sometimes my desire to add more and more and more can sometimes impair my ability to enjoy Christmas also. Sometimes, maybe lots of times, less nuts is good. So with that, here is my really-delicious recipe for Christmas biscotti. Add only the amount of pistachios called for. J I’m not, however, going to instruct you on the amount of chocolate coating to use… Cranberry Pistachio Biscotti

2 cups all-purpose flour1

1/2 teaspoons baking powder

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/4 teaspoon salt2 large eggs

3/4 cup pistachios, coarsely chopped

2/3 cup dried cranberries

12 ounces good-quality white chocolate

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line a heavy large baking sheet with parchment paper. Whisk the flour and baking powder in a medium bowl to blend. Using an electric mixer, beat the sugar, butter, lemon zest, and salt in a large bowl to blend. Beat in the eggs 1 at a time. Add the flour mixture and beat just until blended. Stir in the pistachios and cranberries. Form the dough into a 13-inch long, 3-inch wide log on the prepared baking sheet. Bake until light golden, about 40 minutes. Cool for2 hours.. Place the log on the cutting board. Using a sharp serrated knife, cut the log on a diagonal into 1/2 to 3/4-inch-thick slices. Arrange the biscotti, cut side down, on the baking sheet. Bake the biscotti until they are pale golden, about 15 minutes. Transfer the biscotti to a rack and cool completely. Stir the chocolate in a bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water until the chocolate melts. Dip half of the biscotti into the melted chocolate. Gently shake off the excess chocolate. Place the biscotti on the baking sheet for the chocolate to set. Sprinkle with the sugar crystals. Refrigerate until the chocolate is firm, about 35 minutes. The biscotti can be made ahead. Store them in an airtight container up to 4 days, or wrap them in foil and freeze in resealable plastic bags up to 3 weeks.

So there you have it. Thoughts on being nuts at Christmas (a natural inclination of mine) and a pretty good recipe. AND for you lucky few who found your way here, a peek at my Christmas baking. :) If anyone wants any of my other recipes, I don't keep any of them secret - let me know if you want my sugar cookie, springerle, peppermint bark, chocolate mint cookies or shorbread recipes!)
I hope YOU are having a wonderful week preparing for Christmas too. :)

And so it begins...

I haven't written for a while, as I have been busy gearing up to December first (when 'Christmas' in my house begins..). At this moment all presents are bought, but a few still have to be made - as of yesterday the Christmas cookies are almost all done and the house is decorated. I LOVE this time of year, but what I am loving most is sharing the miricle of Christ's birth with my daughter. This is the Advent calendar I made for her - we're on day 4 obviously, and each day she has been excited to open the tissue and find a candy, an activity to do together and the day's Bible reading from our Advent plan. I must say that getting on a regular habit of family Bible reading is harder than I thought it would be - especially with Jason not usually coming home until after the rest of us have eaten supper (I was hoping to do this every night at our evening meal) and that being the height of the kinds cranky period. Any suggestions are welcome. :)
The Advent calendar was fun to make - I saw the idea on someone's blog, but the link to the person who made it first was no longer working. It was easy enough to save up 25 paper tubes over a few months, and wrap them with printed scrapbook paper and some elements I printed off and glued to chipboard. Add some cute numbers, and we're done! :) The hardest part was coming up with 24 fun things to do that were manageable for me in the month when so many other things pop up... Here's the list as it stands so far! (feel free to skip to the end if you like)

1. Set up Nativity and read the Christmas story

2. Make pinecone birdfeeders

3. Bakie cookies with Neena and Grandpoo (grandma and grandpa)

4. Decorage Gingerbread boys & girls

5. Go to church for prechool movie night : a Charlie Brown Christmas!

6. Make paper snowflakes and trees for the windows

7. Make Christmas Potpourri

8. Make Cinnamon Clay Ornaments

9. Grandpoo and Neena coming over to babysit

10. Make Shrinkydink 'jewelry'

11. Build Bethlehm out of blocks and read "The Something Wonderful"

12. Uncle Andrew coming over - bake/sing Christmas songs

13. Make Snowman Family (if there's snow!)

14. Take items we've been collecting for the YAC to church

15. Playdough Day

16. Friends coming over to play

17. Build an indoor "igloo" (fort day!)

18. Paint frames for Christmas gift pictures

19. Skaing Party

20. Wrap Christmas Presents

21. Church Day

22. Make Snowglass

23. Go for a drive to look at Christmas lights

24. Go to church Christmas Eve

We'll see how things go this month. :) The good thing about my daughter not being able to read yet is I get to read what the fun thing we get to do is! If I don't have everything ready, we'll call it a 'Red and Green Day" and my daughter will be equally thrilled. :) Is that cheating? Maybe. :)