On a Quiet Evening

My bag had to be at school this morning, along with my sleeping bag, so that the vans could be packed. We will be driving, in 4 vehicles - 3 large vans and a small bus - for three long days to Mexico. I have a little tote bag and my pillow to take tomorrow. 

As part of the team of chaperones and drivers for this trip, I had to get my commercial driving licence. That meant a computer knowledge test (which I failed the first time because I didn't study enough about engines and torque and shifting), plus a driving test that included a vehicle inspection. That I did pass. Then, I needed a medical sign-off from my doctor assuring the licensing office that I was of sound mind and body. Also passed.

In a recent conversation with a friend, (actually, with more than one friend), she expressed both admiration and not a little horror that I would do such this - both go to Mexico and get my licence. To summarize what my friends said: "I've decided I'm too old to do things that are out of my comfort zone." 

My response is that I never want to feel so old that I'm not going to challenge myself. I am cognizant of my age and I won't be attempting foolish behaviour, such as bungee-jumping, but I'm not willing to stagnate. The students will have a day at Six Flags on the way home, but I won't be riding any roller coasters, thank you very much. 

I don't consider myself particularly adventuresome, and I often have to push through fear and worry to do the things I do. I pray. I trust God. I ask for strength to do whatever it is I need to do. 

On this quiet evening at home, I'm pondering a lot of things: a friend from my high school days is dying, and an uncle is also declining. Life is indeed uncertain, and all too short. Even as I write these words, I push away fear and uncertainty, entrusting my days and this trip to God's hands.

How do you feel about new experiences? Do you find that you sometimes have to acknowledge fear and then decide to not let it stop you?

Several weeks ago I mentioned a sewing challenge - 6 items in 6 weeks. I did finish. Tim took photos of me on Sunday afternoon when the sun shone beautifully warm. Yellow is out of my comfort zone, but I made the vest reversible in case I wanted to push myself a little. 

The family who live nearby came over on Sunday afternoon for a casual dinner. I've been wanting to try Brenda's Sour Cream Lemon Pie ever since seeing it on her blog. It was delicious and a big hit. Those pretty blue napkins are from my cousin from Wales who was here on a short visit and stopped in for breakfast on Saturday morning. They are from the Burleigh Pottery makers in England. 

The weekend's warmth and sunshine has dissolved into cooler temperatures and drizzly rain. I'll be at the school very early tomorrow morning as we plan to catch the first ferry off the island. The house is clean, there are some meals ready for Tim, and there's nothing left to do. 

I may not be able to blog much (or at all), but I'll look forward to reading your thoughts on my return.  

Autumn: a Time for Reflection

"If winter is slumber and spring is birth, 

and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection.

It's a time of year when the leaves are down 

and the harvest is in

and the perennials are gone.

Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year

and it's time to reflect on what's come before."

Mitchell Burgess

Answering a Question

Some days I wonder if I've reached the end of blogging. Ideas seem trite. I don't have time to sew or knit or craft in this last push to finish my studies. I feel empty, lacking inspiration. My life is so very ordinary.

Then a rush of ideas come. One piling onto another. Today is such a day.

Yesterday, Vee celebrated her 4th year of blogging. In my comment on her post I asked the question, "Have you found that thinking of fodder for your blog causes you to look at life differently?" 

Vee answered in the comments and then asked the question back to me. My initial answer is yes, but then I thought a little more. How has it changed? And why? And how can I explain it?

So I've been thinking about it for most of the day, in between working on my French Poetry and Theatre of the 19th century (Poésie et théâtre du 19e siècle) course.  

I'm finding that blogging is a lot like poetry. It's concise. It requires paying attention. What do I say and what do I leave out? Rather than providing a complete picture of my life, blogging allows me to reveal snippets, a bit at a time, as I feel comfortable. Slices of life rather than the entire loaf.

Blogging hasn't so much changed the way I view life as it has refined it. I'm more attuned to the moments of life rather than just the big picture. I pay attention. I look for beauty. I care for other people who also share snippets of their lives - most of whom I have never met. Blogging has opened up a wider world of like-minded people.

Blogging has sharpened my focus and given me another perspective. It's caused me to bend low to look at minute details and to widen my gaze to grander vistas. 

So now I'm asking YOU the question, slightly tweaked - how has blogging refined your attitude to life?

I lift up my eyes to the hills - 

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip - 

he who watches over you will not slumber;

Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you - 

the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm - 

he will watch over your life;

the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

Psalm 121

Hope is the thing with feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all

Emily Dickinson

Often on my walks I find a feather or two. Gull feathers on the beach, white and gray. Long, glossy black crow feathers near the woods close to our home. Not long ago I noticed these two hawk feathers and picked them up.

I like having bits of nature in my home and my pockets frequently contain a rock, a seashell, an intriguing twig, a pine cone, or, as in this case, a feather. I put them into little dishes and admire them, rotating the displays as whimsy dictates.

Whenever I find a feather, I'm reminded of the above lines from Emily Dickinson. And I'm reminded of the things I most hope for. I know people with huge hurts and I have hopes for them that are hard to express. So I'm reminded of lines from another writer, Ellis Peters, author of the Brother Caedfael mysteries. 

" He prayed as he breathed, forming no words and making no specific requests, only holding in his heart, like broken birds in cupped hands, all those people who were

 in stress or grief."

And when there are no words, this is how I pray, trusting God to mend, restore, and renew.

Walls of Stone

                                                                                                                          (Tulum, Mexico, Feb 2011)

With your help I can advance against a troop;

with my God I can scale a wall.

Psalm 18:22

                                                                                            (near the Pont du Gard, France, 2007)

May there be peace within your walls

and security within your citadels.

Psalm 122:7

Ponderings

Sunday's skies: cloudy. Sky and sea melded into still soft gray. Uncanny. Eyes strain to find the horizon that isn't there.

Undaunted we threw our rain jackets into the back of the car and set off to explore the area around Nanoose Bay, just north of Parksville.

A walk through a marina proved irresistible to Tim, and so we tramped the docks together, admiring sailboats, wondering about the fuel budget for the speedster boats, and breathing in the sea air. I took photos.

The marina was almost deserted save for the boats lined up in their slips, silent and waiting. 

But, as we strolled along the last finger, an older gentleman approached. We greeted him with a smile, intending to pass by.

"You two look happy," he said. "You must own a sailboat!"

"We did," we replied, "but we sold it a couple of years ago."

"I had a boat," he said. "I sold it yesterday. I built it myself and poured time and money into it. It was my dream."

"Why did you sell it?"

"See these dark glasses? I'm developing glaucoma. I can't see well enough to be out on the boat by myself. You know, I think I shed a few tears last night, thinking about my boat."

Dreams come and dreams go. Sometimes we let go of them willingly, their purpose fulfilled. 

Other times, dreams are snatched away from us by any number of reasons - health, death, finances, changing priorities.

The death of a dream is often difficult. Something is taken away. Whether the dream is big or small, loss ensues. Grief takes the dream's place. Bewilderment, questions follow. 

After leaving the marina we climbed Natch Hill. Here we viewed the undulating coastline from distance. We saw a bigger picture. Our perspective had altered. 

Old dreams die. They are treasured and remembered, but other dreams come to take their place. New vistas are explored. In time.

"In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice;

in the morning I lay my requests before you

and wait in expectation."

Psalm 5: 3

Morning reflection in Annette Inlet 2008

Queen Anne's Lace

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread,

places to play in and pray in, 

where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

John Muir

Why I Like the Ocean

We were a lake family when I was a child. Vacations were spent camping or fishing near one of the many, many lakes in the British Columbia interior. Visits to the ocean were rare occasions and the sea was a strange, restless unknown.

Our first beach vacation was in 1982, in Ecuador. I was entranced by the miles and miles of sandy beaches and the warm water - water I could actually swim in. As our family grew, yearly or twice yearly trips to the beach became the norm. I enjoy swimming more than Tim does and he would watch the children play in the shallow water or in the sand while I swam further out. I spent long periods of time floating on my back or gently treading water beyond the breakers. Tim kept a careful eye out, sometimes worried about the length of time I spent out there. I loved the solitude. I saw my beloved family on the shore, but I was distant, observing them, not participating in their activities. There, under the brassy blue sky, enveloped in salty brine, lulled by the motion of the waves, I thought, pondered and prayed. Then, tired physically and rested mentally, I swam into shore and joined in splashing games and building sand castles.

As my acquaintance with the sea grew, so did my attraction to it. Here, I find, life's complexities are made simple. I gain a sense of perspective at the beach. Water, rocks, sand, sky. I am awed at a God who created so much beauty. The immensity of it dwarfs my thoughts. The waves rush in, then fall back, and as they do, little pieces of my worries are dragged away with them to be lost in the vast sea. I am emptied. I am filled instead with beauty that seeps deep into my soul, restoring, healing. God shows his love to me in the solace provided by his creation.

Going to the beach is somewhat paradoxical. There is the simplicity of waves and clouds. But there is also intricate complexity and diversity. Tidal pools with sea anemones, mussels clusters, sea kelp trailing long, scurrying crabs, empty shells. It's all there for the looking. The delicate tracery of sea kelp swaying in the current and the fine prints of sea birds in the sand comfort me with order. Life sometimes seems chaotic, random. Observing the details of life along the ocean reassures me that I live in an ordered world, that chaos is of man's making, not God's. And so I turn away from the sea and return to my daily routines, refreshed and restored. The problems do not go away but I find myself better able to deal with them. And I know that the ocean is there waiting for me again.

A Shell on the Beach

This shell is open, its occupant gone. It lies on the beach, washed by the waves, tumbled on the rocks, caressed by the wind.

Tightly closed it is stronger, less vulnerable to being crushed or chipped. But it lies open, its opalescent aubergine interior visible to all. Closed, its beauty is hidden from the world. I wouldn't have taken a second look, would not have stooped to examine the perfectly formed halves, the swirls of colour, had it not been open.

Is there a lesson in this shell for me? I think I weep too easily. I laugh with equal readiness. Emotions expose my vulnerability. Sometimes I want to close myself up tightly from the world, holding my hurt and my joys to myself, not willing to share. But there is beauty in the life I've lived, beauty because of God's presence. Keeping myself closed hides the work God does, the beauty He is creating in my life.

And so, even though it's uncomfortable, even painful at times, I want to be open, even vulnerable to what life has to offer. There's a lot of joy in our family just now, and a lot of sorrow on varying levels. Balancing the two is difficult. But through it all, the light and the dark, God is creating beauty.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time." 

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Abundance

 

As in years past around the end of December I begin pondering a word for the next year. Last year, it was "new."  Well, new certainly typified last year's experiences - but not in a way I had ever dreamed or wanted. Unemployment was not fun - but it was new. And I learned new ways of coping with difficulties.

When it came time for this year's word, I thought maybe it would be something like "healing" or "grace" or "persevere". But no, the word that kept coming to me as I prayed and read my Bible was "abundance." No way, I thought. But then I started considering the things in my life that I had in abundance. There are a lot of them:

love

family

God's presence

beauty

faith

friends

creativity

hope

And so, I made my collage and focused on what was abundant here and now. I'm so glad I did. Just because my husband now has a job and the future looks brighter does not lessen any of the abundance I already had. The verse quoted on my collage is "You have brought me to a place of abundance." God brought me to a realization that I already had all the abundance I needed BEFORE he provided Tim with a job.

Words to Ponder

Your lovingkindness, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
Your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
Psalm 36:5