Roots: Pulling Them Up & Putting Them Down

::Lament::

2012-01-25T06:43:00.002-05:00

Psalm 88
For my soul is full of troubles. . . You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness.

I read an article the other day about faith beaten black and blue; more specifically, "how to give voice" to the bruising. Many would question the necessity of the dialogue, after all don't we prefer to put our best foot forward? When a gray-blue ache surfaces in our faith-lives, blemishing our post-conversion glow, we tend to keep it under long sleeves, pulled low over our knuckles. Hidden.

Any one who keeps a journal has benefited from the secret, un-inhibited translation of honest pain, confusion and shame from heart to page. Novelists have their own covert vehicle to communicate the darker bits of their lives: characters and plot. Song-writers embed truths inside their hazy and befuddling lyrics.These act as a legitimate, albeit opaque, methods for the telling of pain. A reader can only guess.

These days there is a thing called blogging, and people called bloggers. And the whole lot of us are a mite confused about where to draw our lines. On one hand, it is as complicated as you make it. Share a few pictures. Skim along the surface of life, and no one asks too many questions. This works quite nicely for me most of the time. (Big, happy pictures = small problems, right?) On the other hand, some of us sort our mess out best through writing. And a decision has to be made. Tidy up the inner-mess quietly or share the process, even if there are still dust balls tumble-weeding around under the bed, and the creases in the bed just won't lie flat. Pain-sharing: A beautifully-mucky conundrum.

The article refers to this sharing of the dark as "lament." That suits. Lament is classically OT. The prophets did it. David did it. His boy, Solomon did it. Lament is a type of moan that burbles up out of the pit of each of us and never fully tapers off. For that reason, so many of us just don't venture there-- creatures of catharsis, that we are. I mean, who really felt soul-satisfied when Anna Karenina jumped in front of the train? (Not the way to end a novel.) And who presses stop after Gandalf gets dragged down with the beast and calls it a day? Who wishes that messed-up cat would sustain it's bone-chilling baby-yowl all through the night? We aren't built to linger contently with the unfinished. The incomplete. The void of somewhere-before-the-happy-ending. Especially when the somewhere-void is a place that hurts.

But isn't that exactly where we finds ourselves 98% of the time? In the waiting place? Usually sharing space with confusion, longing and varying degrees of insecurity? I'll tell you, that is exactly where I live. There is nothing comfortably conclusive about a life of five children, myriads of relationships and the ebb and flow of faith and obedience. Except for the ending, that is. I know how it ends. For me. And I have hope lodged-deep in me for the ending of those I love. But between the waiting places and the end is a lot of heavy, un-defined, fray-edged stuff that could use a bit of communing.

Christians have been perpetuating a well-intentioned pain-sharing mechanism called 'testimony.' But the parameters are somewhat hard-lined, the "plot" predictable: Beginning (good or bad), Build-up (usually bad. Often, very bad indeed), Climax (conversion), Falling-action (a series up ups and down, trending towards good,) & Denouement (good, always good or you'll never be asked to speak at the youth conference ever again.) The same human psychology is at play here as in our book-reading/movie-watching habits. Make the thing work out in the end. Don't leave it all hanging over the abyss.

I just think that there is a place for this abyss-perching dialogue. It's called "mourning with those who mourn." And sharing the ash heap. And saying; "I just don't know." This is life. Not saying I like it. (I am very partial to princesses finding their princes and Hobbits destroying rings, etc.) But it is life, non-the less. We don't get to know how the unfolding goes. And the not knowing usually makes a mess of us. So let's talk about it, write about it and admit that it all sounds very familiar.

{Muse: "How Then Shall We Mourn" by Allison Backous
Photo Cred.: Torn Leaf}

::Can't stop listening::

2012-01-24T10:22:00.002-05:00

Music is so personal, so I rarely share it here. But this is uniquely fantastic. I think. :

::How to make Chemistry fun::

2012-01-23T09:40:00.001-05:00

I did not love chemistry. It grew to be a little too much like Math for my taste. However, all the memorization bits were ok. I said 'ok,' not fun. But what if it could be?
Make anything edible, and it gets more interesting:

Mmm. Ununtrium Cookie.

Yes, the entire Periodic Table of Elements in Sugar Cookie-form. I take ownership of the nerdiness required to actually bake and decorate this many cookies. But, I can not take ownership of the idea:

Not-So-Humble-Pie. {And she did it so much better.}

At the moment. 118 cookies+ are stored in the freezer. Each day, for snack, we'll pull a few out and read about them in these books:

This book is a gem. He's clearly a very bright man, who insists of splashing each page with humour.

"When not lounging in a hot tub, bromine can sometimes be found sleeping with children. Wait, wait, it's not what you think. Organic bromine compounds. . . are added to childrens' synthetic-fiber pajamas as a flame-retardant." p.91 "The Elements" by Theodore Gray

"Really, people should stop thinking of cubic zirconia as fake diamond and start thinking of diamond as overpriced cubic zirconia. There is no real difference in how pretty they are-- that's just the imagination fueled by having paid way too much for a plain, colourless rock." p.101 "The Elements" by Theodore Gray

::Blue Eyes::

2012-01-19T02:59:00.001-05:00

About eleven years ago, I began to share a wall with the guy I would marry. We shared that wall for months, along with a neighbourly wall-muffled soundtrack of our lives, before a well-intentioned somebody began to whisper in each of my ears; ". . . he's a Christian. . . he has the nicest blue eyes."

But, about eleven years ago, a wall is, arguably, the only thing I had to offer. I had bleached-white hair and wore leather and a bright lip-sticked smirk-- a tactical foil: colourful distractions, with which to hide an ingrained distaste for one's own character. A practice, might I add, indicative of too much time spent thinking of one's self in the first place. Also, indicative of being in no position to care about anyone, even if he did have nice blue eyes.

Why, then, did a profoundly sober awareness of 'the Christian neighbour' settle in right about then? The unseen was doing it's thing. Giving me insider information that was in no way rational. This neighbour and I had a path to walk. Together. And I knew.

About eleven years ago, a blue-eyed guy started to look out his window, hoping to catch the streak of blond. And I continued to be inexplicably tugged in his direction. We made such a mess of our overtures. His tongue was good and tied, and I was good and confused about-- well, about everything. But there were always the things that kept us within arms-reach, like snow-walks, warm pubs, skate-dancing, that invisible tugging-thread, and God. Especially God.

We used to spend hours studying Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. We would read together and then pick away at every detail, uncovering gems and unwinding snarls in our understanding. The things I learned about him, head-bent over Holy pages, are the things I still love most: His granite-like commitment to what is Good. His unyielding resolve to walk into the unknown without fear.

About eleven years ago, each and every member of my family fell in love with the boy next door, and eagerly waited for me to catch up. Thing is, love wasn't the problem. I had found it there at the beginning. It hadn't been manufactured along the way. It always was. Placed there. In me, to give to him. In hindsight, I can see that eleven years ago my heart was officially introduced to God's love and how it works. He breaks in and loves through. He took a mere scrap of the love He had for his son, Aidan, and He placed it in me and asked me to do something with it.

The doing bit, however, is where I got snagged. I got snagged on my own self. All the lost and confused bits were still alive and well. And a debate was taking place inside. I had words to say to the Spirit in residence, who was busy loving deep and uninterrupted. I said things like 'wait,' and 'hold-up,' and a whole lot of 'me, me, me.' He just kept on loving through me and for me and despite me, suggesting that the hellish holding-pattern I was maintaining would end if only I would look beyond the wall of self-love & loathing to the blue eyes on the other side.

Ten years ago I said 'yes', and 'I'm over myself.' And, 'skate with me forever'. And other equally romantic things. And I said them in a white dress, with pearls in my hair. Said them looking into very blue eyes. Said them as more and more of the lost bits began to click into place. It's that thing called resonance. When run-aways come home to an open door and rebels stop fighting what they already know. Click. My spirit found resonance with The Spirit. That's when all the good stuff started. Ten years of it, so far. And I've been thinking about the next ten, and the ten after that, and how hair turns white, and skin wrinkles, but blue eyes always stay blue.

Apparently, a gift of tin is customary on a 10th wedding anniversary. Thankfully, my daughter and I have been baking the periodic table: Tin (Sn, not Ti)

::Pumpkin Cheesecake Muffins::

2012-01-16T05:15:00.000-05:00

I had extra cream cheese in the fridge and decided to use it to make these:

::Pumpkin Cheesecake Muffins::
No regrets.

::Lug Nuts::

2012-01-13T15:49:00.009-05:00

There are some questions you just can't be expected to have an answer for. Like, what do your lug nuts look like? Yeah, the big question. Here's my answer; "They are hexagonal and nearly the size of a quarter-- I think." Typical me. Answer with authority in the absence of ANY knowledge on the subject. An inner compulsion that is surely part of the Fall-- no good ever comes of this habit of mine. I remember, once, sending a nice couple far, far, far in the opposite direction they had hoped to go, simply because they'd asked. The implications of what I'd done only occurred to me hours later when I spotted them at the local corner store asking for fresh directions. I ran away.

There's a story here. It begins with a bit of shaking and ends with lug nuts.

This weekend our van developed a tremor. Minor, but detectable. This kind of thing happened to our car once and it was just some mud caked to the inside of the wheel-wells. We figured this was the same thing. Maybe slush turned to ice. But that theory literally fell apart today.

I was driving the kids home from a visit with a friend when the tremor turned into more of a helicopter-like rumble. LOUD. The steering wheel started to shake and I heard myself uttering things like, "Oh, mother!" (Mother?!) And, "Crappity crap!" etc. We made it onto our road somehow, but when we hit the railway tracks something sort of crunched and the brakes quit and we sailed along until the van felt like stopping.

When I got out, all the wheels were pointed forward accept the fourth one. It was turned sideways. Out of the five or six lug nuts that hold a tire on, only one was left. That can't be good, was my first thought. I also thought it looked expensive. These were crowded out by other thoughts like, we're alive! Along with, we could have ended up in a gorge or a river!

When a school bus lumbered over the tracks I made that universal sign with my hands. You know, the 'call me' sign. She kindly open the door and I scrambled up the steps. A handful of bored-looking teenage boys eyed me as I made a call to Aidan. "Bad news. The tire is about to fall off the van." And as I was talking, the most convenient thing happened, my neighbour drove by. I waved out the bus window. He saw. Backed-up, and we all jumped ship and hitched a ride home.

At the moment, the van is parked half a block away and Aidan is e-mailing me questions about lug nuts. We're wondering how this will end. Maybe a plow with pummel it off the road. Maybe we have thousands of dollars in repairs ahead. Maybe I am going nowhere for the next few weeks. I don't know.

But I do know the meddling hand of God when I see it. And He was all over this. We made it home. We're alive and unharmed. A friend was drifting by when we needed help. We were cared for. You could say we were one lug nut away from a much bigger mess.

::Toe-sucking fragility::

2012-01-12T11:15:00.005-05:00

I don't think about the fragility of the human body very often. Never, actually. Unless, of course, I'm sick, then my world falls apart. Mostly, though, I have taken the health of my family for granted. We're from 'sturdy stock,' I tell myself.

Truth is, we are never ever very far from completely shattering. A breath away. Yesterday Annorah was only a step away from good health and a fractured clavicle. One step and now she's wincing every time I pick her up the wrong way. She skipped the last step of the stairs and now there is a crack in one of her shoulder bones.

There is a balance here somewhere. Live boldly, but be ready to break. Such a short sentence. So difficult to grasp.

Not much grappling with the big questions over here though. Just some toe-sucking and lots of cookies.

::Honey-crusted Doom::

2012-01-10T16:16:00.004-05:00

I know a girl who loves to bake bread. She says it makes her feel like she has accomplished something of value, even if she has done nothing else with her day. I finally get it.

For years I have been using my trusty breadmaker to pump out mediocre dough. And it suited me just fine. I have long-since learned that bread travels on a direct path from my mouth to my thighs, so who cares if my whole wheat roles don't make me giddy? But then, as appliances are want to do, my breadmaker broke. Black sludge began to seep out from it's guts onto my counter. R.I.P, to mediocrity. With it's passing dawned a new era: the era of The Kitchen-Aid Mixer.

It took weeks of breadlessness to finally looked my Mixer up and down with any real intent. I eyed it's wicked-looking dough hook with some trepidation, flipped through the manuel and finally went for it. . . Only to find that doom is upon me. Now that I have tasted the buttery crunch of my crusty Honey Oatmeal Bread, I expect to grow by one clothing size per week until no plus-sized store will be able to hold me.

::Honey Oat Bread::

::The boat::

2012-01-04T11:29:00.006-05:00

"Stay out of the boat!" Joyce Meyers

When I was a little girl, one of my favourite sounds was the indistinct roar of the stadium crowd, filtering through the speakers of the downstairs television up to my bedroom, during football season. The reason I loved the sound was because I was not a good sleeper, and at night I often felt terribly alone. By nature, I have always thrived in community. Never apart from it. And there is something very apart about sleep. Worse-still, the exclusion from it. To my young ears, the sound of football meant one thing: Dad was awake. I wasn't alone in my awakeness.

But there were nights when it wasn't enough. My aloneness consumed me, even with my sister asleep in the same bed. I would pull back the covers and walk carefully down the steps to snuggle next to Dad on the couch. And somehow Dad knew that he couldn't be the cure. So, bless him, he reached for his Bible:

³⁵ That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” ³⁶ Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. ³⁷ A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. ³⁸ Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?" ³⁹ He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

Calm.

It was enough for me then. Do not be afraid. Jesus calms storms. He is with me always. Even in awakeness. To a seven year-old, it was enough.

Now I am a woman. And as I have grown, God has asked things of me. You know what I mean. He puts a thing in our minds. And then He sends messages to re-enforce His desire. Be willing, He asks. And we either are. Or we pretend we can't hear Him. We pretend He never asked. And then, because our spirit knows the truth-- that we are in rebellion-- our peace is stolen.

I have been reading about boats again. This time, it's Peter who has a choice to make.

²⁸ “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
²⁹ “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”³¹ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” ³² And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. ³³

Calm. Again the calm.

But this time, I do not see the calm as the desirable end. Because it was out in the storm that Peter got to touch Jesus. The act of moving out of safety and into the uncomfortable mess is what brought him within reach of Jesus' hand. Back in the boat there was calm, yes. But the better thing was back out in the storm: God's hand.

I have been in the boat for awhile. It is calm. Comfortable. Relatively pain-free. And even though my hands are always busy, they are restless. God has been asking again. Be willing. Get out of the boat, take my hand and say, "Yes."

{Photo: Matt Myers}

::2011 in Photos::

2012-01-03T07:39:00.013-05:00

Let's face it. As much as I love to write, this blog is really about photos. Writing just wrings me out. Guts me completely. It feels worthwhile when I complete a piece that has meaning. The ones that manage to capture the scrap of stunning revelation I have just grasped about my God. Memorial pieces. Sadly, those are few and far between. Not because God hasn't revealed His beautiful Face every single time I have asked, and often when I have not. But mostly, it's because I just can't muster up the determination, nor the energy to put words down.

So, I take photos instead. Here is our 2011 in photos. They are my favourites from month to month. And, by the way, thanks for reading-- er, looking.

::You're Welcome::

2011-12-31T11:27:00.000-05:00

My Gabriel can be a whiner. Often, when given something good, he makes it known that he would prefer a little MORE of that something. To which, I respond by plucking the good something out of his hands, so he goes without. Today, not a word passed his lips when I handed him his snack. That is, until:

::Snowshoe Picnic::

2011-12-30T18:26:00.001-05:00

I really don't like buying the kids things they will use once and then forget about. I love to think of gifts that will not only be used, but will draw the kids together. This year I was truly blessed to have discovered a HUGE sale on snowshoes on the L.L.Bean website. 70% off. I snatched up three pairs, even though the two pairs assigned to my boys were decidedly lilac-toned. (I covered them in cool stickers to make up for that.) Along with the snowshoes, we gave each of the kids a knapsack packed with winter picnic essentials: A thermos & granola bars. Gabriel and I ventured out for our first picnic regardless of the thin layer of snow. He really enjoyed himself, (I know this because the speed with which he speaks is proportionate to his level of excitement, and I couldn't get a word in edge-wise,) but I know he'll have infinitely more fun with his siblings in tow along with a few more feet of snow.

::Cheese Day::

2011-12-28T17:49:00.001-05:00

Boxing Day: Shopping? Nope. Games, singing, Christmas Bread and lots of strange cheeses. And this year, a bit of skating as well.

::The ways of Christmas::

2011-12-27T16:04:00.005-05:00

One of the truths of this life is that where flexibility increases, joy increases also. Everyone loves tradition. Or, at least they love what tradition brings: security. And so come Christmas-time we all gravitate towards the age-worn ways of the past, whatever they might be. (Each family hauls it's own ancient tome of Christmas Do's & Don'ts from a trunk in the attic on an annual basis.) But, inevitably, with expansion and growth, old ways rub up against new ways and there can be friction. Or, a bit of bending takes place and joy is found in the unexpected.

Our family has undergone some rapid expansion, (three children-in-law, and nine grand-children in ten years), and without the willingness to re-assess old ways year by year, we likely would have disbanded into separate Christmas celebrations by now. Bit by bit, the Christmas of my childhood has morphed into a new thing that I am proud to be a part of. We have learned to spend less, to slow down and savour, to commit to togetherness. Therein is joy.

::Tree Sleepover::

2011-12-24T09:11:00.002-05:00

Every year, just before Christmas, we abandon our beds-- our cozy, comfortable beds-- in favour of the living room floor. Because that's where the tree is. It's beckoning glow. A Christmas movie plays, signalling sleep as it comes to an end. Messy mosaic of quilt and sprawled limb. I ask him; "Who does this?!" We do. To mark the season. To mark their childhood.

::Merry Christmas::

2011-12-22T21:26:00.003-05:00

Because I will likely not post until well after the 25th. . .

::Tinies::

2011-12-20T09:46:00.000-05:00

::Caelah's 9th Birthday::

2011-12-18T21:53:00.006-05:00

{Birthday Breakfast: Crepes & Strawberries}

{Birthday Flower from Oma & Opa}

{Painting Workshop at 4Cats}

{Birthday Dinner: Sushi!}
{Birthday-girl Blurr}

We simply adore you, our Caelah.

::Cookies & other Homemade Delights::

2011-12-15T15:37:00.005-05:00

We had a Cookie Exchange here today. Ten ladies yield a lot of different cookies. Red ones, green ones, some the size of your head. This really is the way to go if you like variety. We each baked five dozen and scooped up six of each kind. The perk of hosting, of course, is that I ended up with all of the extras.

{Glass Pebble Magnets from Alanna}
In celebration of homemade treasures:

{Fabric star from Karin}

::Nativity Play 2011::

2011-12-11T20:54:00.002-05:00

No little angel of mine graced the play this year--that's Ryleigh below--Annorah flatly refused. I had her little white dress on, her wings tied and her halo in place on her curly head. And she systematically tore them all off. Also, we had no one representing among the sheep. Isaiah was not interested in being herded down the isle in an itchy costume. But, all things considered, a priest, a Rabi and a Mary is not too shabby. Plus, a handsome man of ours featured in every set change, hauling bits of Bethlehem here, there and everywhere.

::Jonathan Toomey::

2011-12-10T19:03:00.004-05:00

We have collected a dozen Christmas books over the years. I keep them in a wooden trunk I reserve for Christmas things. Come late November, I pull them all out and put them under the coffee table in a wooden tray. Most of the books are whimsical and lovely, but this one is far more than that. Each time I pull a little person onto my lap to read to this particular book I try my very best to keep my voice even and my throat clear. But inevitably a lump forms and I waver. Just read it. You'll see what I mean.

::Trimming the Tree::

2011-12-09T09:07:00.001-05:00

We received a call two days ago from the teacher. One of our boys said that Santa wasn't real. The teacher was very upset, and so was I-- but not for the same reasons. She wants every child in her classroom to respect one anothers' beliefs, while I want every child in her classroom to believe in Jesus. That said, I took full responsibility. I admitted to her that I had forgotten to have that talk with my boy-- the one where I tell him to clamp his lips shut and say nothing at all.

::Tree Day 2011::

2011-12-06T11:52:00.001-05:00

Tree-cutting time again. Cedar Hill is no longer a Berry Farm, but strictly a tree operation. They built a beautiful new timber-frame lodge for sales, and have been planting like crazy. The area we were cutting in was so dense that we had to keep a close watch on the kids. Annorah became quite adept at squirming sideways between the prickly boughs and popping into the next row.

Every tree is pruned to perfection. That makes it very hard to choose. We found a tree we loved and marked it with a small pink mitten, but then spotted a new favourite a few rows away and had to hunt down the mitten again. We all left happy and in a wintery mood, (it helped that a dusting of snow remained on the ground and branches.) Once our trees were dragged up to the ends of the rows, a tractor came to haul us and our sappy treasures back to our the lodge. The family who runs the farm are such kind people. We will support them for as long as they are in business.

::Christmas Ornaments 2011::

2011-12-05T03:27:00.003-05:00

This year I literally hammered away at some old baking trays until they looked like

Punched Tin

::Pretty Scribbles & Lemony Pleas::

2011-11-29T19:56:00.003-05:00

A few tidbits from my life this week.

::Heroes::

2011-11-29T12:05:00.000-05:00

We just finished Book One of "Hero Tales" by Dave & Neta Jackson. We all love it. Each day we read a short biography of a godly Hero of the Faith. I am refreshed and amazed by the accounts of God's miraculous provision for men and women who trusted God implicitly while staring death in the face.

The kids have responded so well to this. How better to teach them to live and pray BIG than to read true stories about those who did just that.

This series has three or four books. I can't wait to begin the next one.

::Yummy Crystals::

2011-11-25T11:51:00.000-05:00

Cae and I grew some Rock Candy this month. She says they were delicious. I think they looked like a gooey, purple mess. But they are beautiful. We peered at them under the microscope. Breath-taking.

Activity: Grow Crystals
Crystals grow in undisturbed spaces where mineral-filled liquid is present. This means that a sugar-water solution in a glass jar serves well as a make-shift "geode."

These are edible crystals: Rock candy.

Observe & Sketch the growth of your crystals

::irresistible::

2011-11-24T10:58:00.003-05:00

I have not seen my children since we said "Amen" after family worship this morning. They are out in the white: wet, cold and LOVING it! I, meanwhile, am in by the fire: dry, cozy and LOVING it!

::Lantern for Baby Charlotte::

2011-11-07T10:42:00.003-05:00

A few years ago I made THIS.
I adapted it and made a lantern for a friend’s baby.

::Dress-Up Day 2011::

2011-11-05T19:42:00.003-04:00

::Trail Bars::

2011-10-18T14:43:00.003-04:00

::Cranberries::

2011-10-12T11:38:00.000-04:00

Caelah and I took a mini tour into the world of cranberries this thanksgiving. Here is a sample of what we learned:

Crane-Berries: Pilgrims thought the cranberry flower looked like the head of a crane.
Bounce-Berries Cranberries must pass a freshness test called a "Bounce Test." This involves bouncing them over a one inch bar. Only the fresh ones make it over.

Cranberries

Cutest, and most helpful website about cranberries:
www.cranberries.com

When John “Peg-Leg” Webb poured a load of cranberries down his storage-loft stairs (his wooden leg made it impossible to carry them), he noticed that only the firmest and the finest made it to the bottom—the bruised and spoiled lingered on the upper steps. He realized then that the fruit’s “bounceability” was the perfect test to separate the good from the bad. That was in 1880; today, a bounce test still exists—a cranberry Olympics of sorts—but instead of stairs, many farmers use something called a bounce board separator. The berry contestants are dumped into a hopper, where they face a gauntlet of angled wooden boards. Softer cranberries slouch against the slats, sliding into a box set aside for the compost heap. Somewhat sprightlier specimens make the cut for the juicer, while the top-shelf cranberries—the gold medal winners—catapult themselves in graceful pole-vaulting form to the conveyor belt below. Only these bouncy berries are destined for the table. ~EatingWell

OceanSpray Video:

::Cooking with Cranberry::

::Cranberry Reads::

::Thanksgiving 2011::

2011-10-11T11:02:00.003-04:00

This is another occasion where I will have to rely on words for memory, rather than pictures. When hosting over 20 people, the camera lies forgotten. Sadly. No pictures of the men around the bonfire. Or the children building forts in the woods. Nor the cozy gathering on the back porch, and the tables covered in glorious food. Sigh. Aidan stole a few photos in the evening. These will have to do.

P.S. Apart from an Aunt and Uncle I adore visiting from thousand of miles away. I am particularly thankful today for the news that Daniel and Amanda are engaged!

::So Thankful for Cousins::

2011-10-08T19:56:00.003-04:00

::Caelah's gift::

2011-10-05T08:52:00.000-04:00

Caelah painted this for Ryleigh's first birthday. I am so impressed. I could never manage animals or people, but she looked up a YouTube video and away she went!

::Homemade Memory Games::

2011-10-04T08:44:00.002-04:00

I have been handing out these at every baby shower and birthday party:
Homemade Memory Games. I painted butterflies for girls, and insects for boys. Now I need to fine-tune the manufacturing process. ideally I will learn how to print up my painted images as stickers.

::Life Tidbits::

2011-10-01T11:01:00.006-04:00

Just an update. I broke our second camera lens. The fancy one. So, without photos I have stubbornly refused to post. God was gracious, and a friend passed along two old Canon lenses for us to use for now. So it's back to the 50 mm zoom. It will take a long while before we can purchase a fancier once again. Sigh.

On a happier note, I won three red ribbons at the Fair. I was not expecting to, as last year I have stiff competition and came in third. I submitted Mom's Fairy Castle silhouette lantern, my Bottlecap Fairies & the pendant I made Sara. The categories were "Something creative made from a Mason Jar, Something recycled & Homemade Jewelery." Caelah was supposed to submit under the Junior photography department: "May Pet," but her distracted mother didn't get the photos developed on time. . .

Caelah started ballet on Monday, and loved it. I drove all over the city that day to get her tights in the exact right shade of pink. And her short hair required 45 pins, plus loads of hairspray to stay in a bun. But she would say it was all worth it.

Because Caelah has begun to work independently, I have been back to cooking and baking new recipes. The week's successes:

::Honeyed-Pear & Gorgonzola Tart::

::Spiced Roasted Sweet Potatoes::

And, in keeping with the pear theme:
::Pear & Cabbage Slaw::

::A new way to do potatoes::

2011-09-24T13:06:00.002-04:00

I gave these taters a try, because Aidan and I need all the motivation in the world to do potatoes at all. They were brilliant! It took about an hour, the potato opens up as it cooks and each slice comes apart deliciously. I recommend:

SeaSaltwithFood

::Corn::

2011-09-22T15:24:00.003-04:00

It's the time of year for corn, among other things. But, Caelah and I decided to study it. Check out what we learned over at Nesting Place.

::Upper Canada Village::

2011-09-19T11:32:00.009-04:00

Caelah and I are wrapping up our few weeks of pioneer study-- although I think we may drag it on longer. It has been so much fun. To celebrate, we took a long drive South to Upper Canada Village. The whole place is a feast for the eyes.

Since we were last there the Discovery Center was been built: a small museum with interactive displays. As you enter, there is a curtain of dry ice(?) streaming down, upon which is a projection of a battle. It was slightly disconcerting to me, but little kids simply hated it. "Mommy, I don't want to go in there!"

We had the place to ourselves, which meant that we could entice the actors into a more flexible dialogue than would otherwise have been permitted, (as the "actors" are not supposed to slip out character.) I found out from the spinning lady that you can take wool from your own sheep to a shop in Osgoode to be spun. And the school teacher let us ring the bell inside. The carriage driver told a story about a cellphone being left in a casket, then ringing. As the tinsmith laboured to curl his sharp edges under, I tipped him off about metal buffers, and he thought he might go ahead and invent it. The tavern owner and I discussed the unsuitability of my soldier boots, leggings, knee-high skirt and yellow hoody for the dance being held there that night. And the we caught the printsmith at work on a special, and illicit, project: a poster commemorating his favourite motorcycle:

::Who am I?::

2011-09-19T10:31:00.003-04:00

Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!

::Thaumatropes::

2011-09-15T06:12:00.001-04:00

Caelah and I have been looking into what pioneer kids played with. This is just one of many things they came up with:

Activity: Make a Thaumatrope!
Thaumatropes were an early form of "animation" created by placing two different images that fit together on either side of a disk.

HOW TO:
1. Pick two circular images that would fit together if they were superimposed on top of one another.
2. Cut out a similar-sized circle out of thick cardboard, or wood.
3. Paste one image right-side up. And the other upside-down.
4. Punch two holes on the sides of the circle and feed two rubber bands through.
5. Twist and let go!

You can use any image at all, but traditionally, the pioneers posed a riddle: one side the question. The next side the answer. The riddle above reads:
Q:How is a dog like a Highwayman?
A: Because he is in quest of prey.

::Apple Day 2011::

2011-09-14T15:30:00.000-04:00

This year we didn't make it to our favourite apple picking place. We went with what was easiest. There is an orchard just off Carling in Kanata North. I can't remember the name, and won't worry too much about that because I would rather not recommend it. The prices were high and the staff unhelpful. Also, because it was priced by weight, we were doomed to pay huge amounts. By the time I turned around from taking a few photos, the kids had stuffed three whole bags. . . However, who can resist the delight of fresh fruits?

Favourite Apple recipes this Fall:
::Pecan and Warm Apple Salad::
::Apple Cream Cheese Squares::

::Backyard Forest Trail::

2011-09-13T15:50:00.005-04:00

The kids have started to pound a path through our forest with their bikes. I love that. With a bit of chainsaw work, we should have a winter ski trail, and a way back to the river in no time. We took advantage of the bug-free time of year to explore.

::NUMBERS 20: Moving Him from His Place::

2011-09-09T11:48:00.004-04:00

"The people would not know God unless Moses and Aaron accurately represented Him. . . The LORD had in mind a gentle miracle for the people this time-- a hard rock yielding to a mere word. . . God had spoken to Moses softly and graciously , but when Moses spoke to the people, it was loudly and angrily. . . Moses was so angry that he raised his arm and smashed the rock with his staff twice. . . They had water, but they did not have the real gift that God intended for them that day. . . " ~Nancy Ganz "Numbers"

I read the account of Moses above and I empathize sharply with his fall from grace. I feel the searing pain of being stripped of pride. I taste the bitterness of being made "grind my teeth on the gravel" of rebuke. {Lamentations 3:16} I feel covered in the ashy mess of the fallout.

I have been brought low these past weeks by an awareness of sin in me. I always knew it was there, but never really looked it in the face-- grappled with it. I didn't really have to. It isn't the kind of sin that is worn on the outside. But it shapes motives and taints words. Right now it is all so painfully clear. I can see every contour of the ugliness of it, and how it plays out from day to day. And yet, the unlovely shadow-twin of mine was never held to account until now. Or was it?

. . . for he does not afflict from the heart or grieve the children of men. {Lamentations 3: 33}

He delights not in the death of sinners, or the disquiet of saints, but punishes with a kind of reluctance. He comes out of his place to punish, for his place is the mercy-seat.~Matthew Henry

Mercy is my God's first inclination. And, yes, I look back and see that as Truth. I can trace the sites of minor wreckages winding through my early life. Small things at first: A steering-providence, weaving me away from a longed-for thing. A Divine "No" to a selfish desire for "Yes." Little, stinging revelations of what my heart is capable of.

And then, after lessons unlearned, I can see how God moved from his place to address his daughter. His hand directed more painful events, through more public means to open my eyes. Poor choices, with humiliating consequences. Unveiled rejection and shame. I learned how to make good use of my pain, but I didn't learn to sit in the ashes just yet. I preferred to play the part of victim. And so, with eyes only half-open to my sin my God moved from his place to startle them wide.

Now I see. I see what He was after from the start. He always and ever intended for me to be empty. For me to be useable. The architecture of my life has been laid out to remind me. Even the craftsmanship of my body is a message from Him. The people in orbit around me reflect his desires for me.

It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth. {Lamentations 3: 27}

Young, brazen oxen are not much use to a farmer who needs his field ploughed. What use have I been, stubbornly ploughing my own uneven lines in soil, sewing so very little seed. When patiently he waits to use me to break and bow. To be available for so much more. I have laboured over you, daughter. I have been moving over you all along. If your mouth is full of dust, and your clothes are streaked with ash, rejoice! You are being made beautiful. Be broken of your cravings for sweet, useless things. Lesser things. My words are sweet. Taste them only. They are a taste of the greater things to come.

::Pioneering with Beans & Cornmeal::

2011-09-08T19:15:00.005-04:00

We are cooking our way through "The Little House Cookbook" in our Pioneering studies. Our first "Pioneer" recipe is a product of bits and pieces I found in the pantry & garden: dried navy beans, fresh basil, fresh chives, the last three carrots. . . I couldn't use the exact recipe Ma used, because I can't find some of those-- um-- rustic ingredients. So I looked through a Cookbook I own. It made for a perfect chilly-weather meal.

You can see the recipe for ::Ontario Bean Soup with Basil:: &
::Sweet Cornbread:: at Flavour Swap.

“There was nothing to do but sit huddled in coats and shawls, close to the stove.
“I’m glad I put beans to soak last night,” said Ma. She lifted the lid of the bubbling kettle and quickly popped in a spoonful of soda. The boiling beans roared, foaming up, but did not quite run over.
“There’s a little bit of salt pork to put in them too,” Ma said.
Now and then she spooned up a few beans and blew on them. When their skins split and curled, she drained the soda-water from the kettle and filled it again with hot water. She put in the bit of fat pork.
“There’s nothing like good hot bean soup on a cold day,” said Pa.” ~Little House on the Prairie

Ma rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands and mixed the cornbread while Mary brought the wood and Laura set the table. . . Ma made the cornmeal and water into two thin loaves, each shaped in a half circle. She laid the loaves with their straight sides together in the bake oven and she pressed her hand flat on top of each loaf. Pa always said he did not ask any other sweetening when Ma put the prints of her hands on the loaves. ~Little House on the Prairie

::Bookmarks & Baskets::

2011-09-08T13:20:00.000-04:00

A new organization strategy: Bookmarks & Baskets!
I found beautiful, sturdy wicker baskets on sale the other day, so I scooped up four. At the moment, they have been filled with four categories of books:
1. Caelah's weekly work.
2. Caelah's pleasure-reading.
3. My devotional books and studies.
4. My pleasure-reading. {Which, I suspect, will remain largely untouched until June}

The benefits of having a basket to haul around everything at once are many. Caelah plucks from the front of the basket, then tucks her finished work in the back, only to return to it once all of the material in front has been worked through.

The Bookmarks are the product of my new love-affair with my fancy ::Marvy Uchida Giga Craft Punch::

HOW TO:
1. Punch out brightly coloured card-stock, scrapbook paper or plain cardstock{this can be covered with images from magazines.}
2. Coat it in clear packing tape. Cut off excess tape.
3. Punch a hole in circle using a regular hole-punch.
4. Feed a string or ribbon or hemp through the hole and tie beads to the dangling ends.

::First Day of School::

2011-09-07T13:44:00.002-04:00

This year, I have been learning a lot about discipline. Discipline involves submitting to what God is speaking into our hearts through His Word and Spirit.

This in mind, Caelah and I have been getting up at 6:30, well before the others, to go and do our devotions by lamplight. My hunger for study is enough for me, but I have worked to make it a warm and comforting habit for her. I have muffins and fresh fruit for us. We have set out cushions and warm blankets to curl up under. And I make myself available to her. I set aside my studies to answer her questions sufficiently and well.

I wanted to treat Caelah to a back-to-school outfit. Even if no one really appreciates our fashion sense but us. . . I finally developed a taste for UGGs. I used to think they made people look like they were wearing marshmallows, but I have succumbed to the style.

I also delved into my Christmas trunk early to give Caelah this: A Lapdesk. It was on sale at Chapters. We do most of our work on the floor around here. So I knew it would prove helpful.

Elijah came from school a surly bear. Hypoglycemic? I will be sure to throw food directly into his path today when he comes home. As for Gabriel, he has not yet begun. However, he has been praying in preparation: "God, I pray that everyone will remember my name, and I pray that I will remember everyone's name as well."

::Hatched::

2011-09-05T16:24:00.004-04:00

Hatching a Monarch Butterfly is a magical thing to behold. The rapid transformation from chubby grub to elegant butterfly bears the stamp of God all over it. This country family will surely never tire of witnessing the miracle.
We found our very first Monarch caterpillar in the field next door. The field is positively busting with milkweed in the Fall. An where there is milkweed, there are surely one or two chubby yellow and white creepy crawlers nearby. We placed him in our insect box where he proceeded to consume four or five entire milkweed leaves in less than a day! He slowed down on Day 2 and by evening was hanging upside down by a white goo in the shape of a letter 'J'. By Day 3 we found him in a shiny green chrysalis-- his yellow and white skin shriveled on the floor of the box. It happened so fast!
We almost missed it! The books have said to expect the transformation to take two weeks. But on Day 18, I think I gave our Monarch up for dead. We left the cage bug box out on the porch, but I stopped checking.Then this morning Aidan called up the stairs, "Jo, you better come and see this." Our beautiful butterfly was waiting for us. And it is a SHE! I barely had time to snap one photo before she stretched her wings and took off. We watched her fly into the forest. I hope she makes it to Mexico.

::Monarch Books::

::Our Wildflower Hunt::

2011-08-27T11:20:00.004-04:00

I have mentioned Morris Island before. August is almost over, and my kids will be back in school soon. The weather was perfect, so I jumped at the chance to take them all out for a Nature Walk together. The kids found a few snakes, but only their mom was brave enough to hold one. They turned over rocks to find angry swarms of ants. And with the help of our Wildflower Fandex we actually learned a few things:

::Burnstown::

2011-08-24T09:13:00.003-04:00

Moving from the city to the country was not the easiest transition for me, mostly because I like to have easy access to the places I love. Out here, I have settled into a different pattern of living: we stay close to home more often, but when we do explore, we have to commit to being gone most of the day. In this way, I have found quite a few treasure troves. Burnstown is one of them. I discovered it a few years ago, but that was back when I had two fewer children. We finally found our way back there thanks to Karin, who mentioned there was a great beach. The Fosters have been our most faithful day trip companions. They are always willing to join in the craziness of our life. This trip was no exception.
Such a beautiful place. Small, but full of good things. While the kids played in the water, and on the fortress-of-a-play structure, Kar and I got to explore. {I made the mistake of trying out that slide, and scraped the skin off of several parts of my body.} Burnstown revolves around their art community. There are several galleries along the main strip. Now, there is also a coffee shop called Neat that roasts it's own beans. They also hosts live music a few times a month. We will be back!

::Sweet Maria's::

2011-08-17T14:49:00.004-04:00

Aidan has been checking the mailbox every day for two weeks. He finally received his Sampler of green beans from Sweet Maria's. Twelve different types of bean. It will be fun to roast and taste them all. Bonus: A pretty and informative postcard regarding coffee cherries.

::Turning 30::

2011-08-15T14:59:00.008-04:00

{A gluten-free gift}

Thirty years. Blissful, really.

{Dinner with Aidan at the new place in town: Back Lane Cafe}

{Mango Cream Puffs}

{Pita-Chip Bruschetta}

{Homemade Lantern Workshop}

:: Ewan ::

2011-08-08T21:00:00.003-04:00

Our newest: Ewan. A third brother. Fourth nephew. Seventh grandson. Ninth grandchild.
Little one, welcome.

{A few more of Daniel and Brayden}

:: Sarah's Camera::

2011-08-02T10:48:00.004-04:00

{::Sledding at Aunty Sarah's::}

As many pictures as I take, I still rely on others to get the shots I miss. Sarah is a great resource. She takes so many pictures. She and I have often observed that while I wait and wait for the perfect shot, she takes hundreds in between. Here are a few from this summer, along with one from a year ago.

{::Swimming etc. at Aunty Sarah's::}

{::More photos from our Triple Birthday Party::}

Thanks Sarah!

::Brayden::

2011-07-28T20:20:00.003-04:00

My little brother is a Dad!
Brayden was born yesterday around noon. 7 pounds, 4 ounces. Healthy and beautiful. {He didn't let his parents sleep a wink last night... Ah, parenthood.}

::Beating the Heat::

2011-07-27T10:42:00.006-04:00

Our church is more than building. It's another home.
When the heat got really bad last week, mom called and invited us for a church sleepover. The church's central air, and our home's lack thereof, made it a very appealing place to be. So we packed up and went.

It was so fun. We BBQ'd. The kids played Hide and Seek, and took great pleasure in choosing which Sunday School room they would sleep in. We set up beds in the big hall and watched shows on the projector, and woke up refreshed. {Even the dogs joined us in the coolness}.

Our next day offered another opportunity to stay cool: Aunty Sarah's. They live on a river. We swam to keep the heat from getting to us.

{::Connor's first Ferry trip::}

::Larsen Fame::

2011-07-24T21:07:00.000-04:00

Because of ::This Post::, I have been contacted well over 30 times regarding Larsen Truss Systems. One couple actually visited our home. Recently, a man called to chat and then wrote ::This Article:: Funny how rarely I think about the bones of our house. That's Aidan's job, I guess. I am only concerned cleanliness and prettiness of the superficials.

:: Triple Birthday Beach Party::

2011-07-20T13:42:00.011-04:00

{Amanda, ready to pop.}

Three birthdays in one: Aidan, Elijah & Annorah. We booked a campsite and asked everyone to join us at the beach. We swam and ate and lounged all afternoon as more and more people arrived. Eventually, we migrated up to the campsite for dinner and gifts, but were granted only an hour or so before things took an abrupt turn.

{Dad's gift to Aidan: Ready-made Sangria}

{All Elijah wanted for his birthday was Lego. And that's what he got}

The party was literally dampened by the freakish storm that, seemingly, came out of nowhere. In a matter of minutes a wind kicked up and we all scattered. The sky crackled with electricity, and the rain drove down hard. Most of us stuffed ourselves under the dining tent. We had to hold it down so it wouldn't fly away. Others hid under trees. (Isn't that the last place you'd want to be?) A few sat in in their trucks. And the men just kept on grilling.

Needless to say, our "campfire" fizzled, and everyone trickled away home. You can't win 'em all. Annorah didn't notice either way. She princessed her way to bed. (So did her brother.)

That night, the storm raged. At first, the kids slept through it. But when the thunder cracked directly over our heads, even I lost my nerve, and scrambled into the midst of my shaking kids. I piled as many of them on top of me as I could. Their quick little heartbeats gave me something to focus on. Meanwhile, Aidan parked himself outside, shepherding our terrified dogs. Above the wind and rain and thunder we all heard his low voice singing to calm the dogs-- or maybe us; Our God is an awesome God. He reigns from Heaven above. . .

Over the next two days we saw lots of fallen trees, some barely missing tents and vehicles. A ranger told us a woman was struck on the head by a falling branch and taken to hospital. But the fear of the first night faded away in the sun. We had plenty to distract us.

I have to recommend Fitzroy, again, to any of you with little kids. The river wraps around the beach, and winds past some of our favourite campsites. It gets shallow there, flowing over a rock bed. Even Norah can wade across it with care. The boys spend most of their time catching crayfish, by peering into the rocky nooks and crannies.

We have got camp food down to a fine art. Lots of fruits and veggies. (I have collected several of those disposable plastic containers with the wedge-shaped compartments. Those are great for hauling fruits and veggies to the beach.) Homemade sweets are more tasty than store bought, but S'more makings are always a must. And bring lots of things to grill. One of my favourite meals: Grilled haddock on toasted baguette, with sauteed tomatoes:

{These cookies were actually the "birthday cake" from the party-- only I never got the chance to dress them up the way they were supposed to be.}

:: Bruschetta with Garlic Cream::

2011-07-15T17:07:00.000-04:00

I improvised a recipe! Every now and then I get it right.

See the full recipe Here:
::Bruschetta with Garlic Cream::

::Frankincense Prayers::

2011-07-14T14:21:00.000-04:00

. . . they offered strange fire before the LORD, contrary to his command. {Leviticus 10}

I want to pray Frankincense Prayers. Frankincense comes from the resin of the Boswellia Tree. It never yields its fragrance until it is burned. Likewise, how often does Scripture remind us that it is through fiery trials that our characters are manifested? At times like that, our prayers take on a profundity and fervency. To God, such prayers give off a deep and lovely fragrance of sincerity. They are no longer mere perfumes.

I don't know about you, but when a man or woman walks by me in a cloud of cloying perfume or cologne, I think; What are they hiding under all that? In Leviticus, two of Aaron's sons offer God a strange fire, and die because of it. Their offering is all show, and is found completely unacceptable. We can offer God strange fires of our own.

Anytime we come to God with a veil over our guilt and our repentance, holding back true sorrow for our sin, we are offering strange fire. Anytime we veer from biblical Truths to counsel other with opinion, or to pander to the cultural status-quo, we are offering unrecognizable incense to our God. He can smell the difference.

God is after our hearts. Find His heart through prayer and study, and pray your Frankincense prayers.

:: Aidan: 34 Years::

2011-07-12T19:42:00.006-04:00

No pictures of the birthday boy. I meant to, but everything moved at a fast pace today. I got up early to make a French toast breakfast.

Gifts: Green coffee beans from ::Equator::, and a "roaster." {Hot air popcorn maker} At Equator, I asked for four varieties of beans. They store super well unroasted, and this way we can sample and see which are our favourites. In the small machine we can only roast a handful of beans at a time. It is a fifteen to twenty minute process that must be supervised. And the machine blows out chaff from the cracked beans. Best for Aidan to do it all day in his office. {Anthony's idea.} All worth it when we tasted our first cup. Mmmmm. There are undertones that are lost when the beans are old. I think we are going to love this new hobby.

This afternoon, the plan was to go out for lunch at ::Our Place::, then picnic by the water, but Aidan had to work. Frustratingly, it turned out he was free to join us just as I was heading home. So I went with the kids and grabbed sandwiches to go.

I took my still spotty-faced kids down to the park, hoping to give them space to run around without coming into contact with other kids. Nice idea. Bad ending. We set up under a willow and soon had big ugly bugs dropping on us from above. Gulls were everywhere! In no time at all, Norah got poop all over her cute dress, and lunch. I thought a rinse in the fountain might do, but the stench of mold and pee(?) changed my mind. . .

Back home, we ate a delicious meal from "Apples for Jam" by Tessa Kiros: Prawn & Tomato Penne. I tweaked it a bit. Then I messed with my ::Rustic Apple Tart:: to produce a ::Strawberry Tart:: instead. 'Tis the season.

A tasty birthday, if not a perfectly executed one. Happy birthday, babe.

::Neutel Family Reunion 2011::

2011-07-10T17:58:00.003-04:00

Our yearly trip to the Neutel family Reunion means so much to all of us that we are all grieving our early arrival home. It is a truly beautiful family I have married into. So, instead of heading up early Saturday morning I begged Aidan to take some time off work so we could arrive Friday night. In hindsight, I am so glad we did. Because by the time Saturday came to a close two of our kids had fully developed cases of the chicken pox. {Three kids down, two to go.}

Caelah and Gabriel walked around bleary eyed and abnormally subdued. By dinner they were covered head to toe in itchy bumps. "Mom, I'd really appreciate sleeping in my own bed." Oh! How could we not go! We packed up in less than an hour. A warm crowd of family sent us off with hugs and kisses. Uncle Harry invited us back up again in late summer to make up for time lost. That sounds good to me.

:: Elijah: 7 Years ::

2011-07-07T15:58:00.003-04:00

Elijah turned 7 on Tuesday. I await, with eager expectation, the day his faith is set ablaze like the horses that carried his namesake into the skies. Already I see it awakening.

::Your ways::

2011-07-06T11:36:00.011-04:00

Exodus 33

Yet you have said, 'I know you by name, and you have also found favor in my sight.' ¹³Now therefore, if I have found favor in your sight, please show me now your ways, that I may know you in order to find favor in your sight. Consider too that this nation is your people."

I have a name I don't know. But you do. You gave it to me before you wove my tiny bones together. Because you love me as I truly am, before my first fallen breath was drawn, teach me how to live as the daughter you created me to be. Now, Father? I do not want to shed this body before I finally submit to the way of glory. I want these limbs and these lips to live it now.

¹⁴And [the LORD] said, "My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest." ¹⁵And [Moses] said to him, "If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here. ¹⁶For how shall it be known that I have found favor in your sight, I and your people? Is it not in your going with us, so that we are distinct, I and your people, from every other people on the face of the earth?"

Wrap the arms of your Presence around me, God. If I walk out of here alone, I walk away a husk. No light will shine from my eyes. I will radiate nothing but confusion and pride. A useless child and nothing more. And so, without you, I would rather not move at all.

¹⁷And the LORD said to Moses, "This very thing that you have spoken I will do, for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name." ¹⁸Moses said, "Please show me your glory."

You are not a liar, God of mine. You crafted my being with your hands. You will not leave me to crack and crumble in the sun. Where I go, you go. You in me. You around me. You in front and behind. A tingle on my skin. A resonance in my core.

Show me more? Blind me with your radiance, if that's what it takes for me to see. Bring me to a place of isolation, rejection and humiliation, if that's what it takes to curl my fingers into a clinging-posture-- if that's what it takes to cut off my periphery and train my eyes forward and upward.

Teach me your glory. Put a taste for it on my tongue. Plague me with want of it.

¹⁹And he said, "I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name 'The LORD.' And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. ²⁰But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live." ²¹And the LORD said, "Behold, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock, ²²and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by. ²³Then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back, but my face shall not be seen."

It's true. I don't know what I ask. How can I? What can my small, Fall-darkened mind really know about glory? Glory is you. Isn't it? Glory is the pure radiance of all that is you: all that is good. All that is right and true. If this is so, and if I love you, how can I not ask? How can any of us stay silent?

I am a frail thing. If showing me your glory is to much for me to bear, than hold my hand. Keep me standing, brace my form or bow me low. You know where my limits are. I am finite. There is grace even in your withholding. But show me in part? A back. A heel. A hem. A glimpse.

Oh, God Who calls me a name I cannot yet hear, bathe me in enough of you to show me what I am. And what I am not. Introduce your daughter to herself so she can introduce her Father to the world.

:: G is for Glass ::

2011-07-04T09:20:00.000-04:00

{I recycled an old photo for this one.}

:: Chickens & more Chickens ::

2011-06-28T10:27:00.001-04:00

Lots of changes and wrap-ups this week.

We have entered into summer vacation a little earlier than expected. Elijah came down with chicken pox. {And he was immunized!} It's baffling. He has been so tough, apart from the one night of deep discomfort which landed him in bed with me. A mother's arms can soothe.

I chopped my hair off and darkened it. I am embracing my new identity as a brunette.

Caelah's year of Drama culminated in a very adorable performance of "Chicken Princess." She played a wizard, while her cast members played anything from a dragon to a mouse. Some strutted about fearless. Others lisped their lines sweetly. I prodded them all out onto the stage at the appropriate time and made a few sound effects. It was priceless.

I remember being the girl who stayed off the stage and painted props. But when opening night came, I would wish myself out there, even if only to be a part of the scenery. So, I am very proud of Caelah. She is a braver girl than I ever was.

::Fitzroy 2011::

2011-06-23T17:06:00.000-04:00

:: The World is a Ball ::

2011-06-23T09:11:00.004-04:00

Gabriel: "So, the world is ball?"
Me: "Yes."
Gabriel: "But no one can bounce it."
Me: "No." (In my head: Although God could, I suppose-- if He really wanted to.)
Gabriel: "Right. 'Cause no one is tall enough to reach it."
Me: "Mm. Hmm." (In my head: ?)

::Grain::

2011-06-21T21:39:00.001-04:00

A Grain Gift.

Dough worked with patient hands. Wheat shaken and pounded, crushed and sifted into whitest flour, silk-fine to the touch. Salt for the everlasting. Absence of honey-sweet insincerity and the tell-tale infiltration of yeast: a life bloated by culture-taint. A response-offering: Here I am LORD! I am simple. Unembellished. Washed white by blood. Make of my life what you Will.

⁸ Bring the grain offering made of these things to the LORD; present it to the priest, who shall take it to the altar. ⁹ He shall take out the memorial portion from the grain offering and burn it on the altar as a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the LORD. ¹⁰ ~Leviticus 2

Offering Grain is to offer ourselves as new things. Unformed things. A canvas upon which He will paint. He asks for a fine, unsweetened white loaf-- A wide-open, willing heart. I am afraid that I have buried my raw availability in layers of false-dependencies and misguided desires. Like a mega-syllabic order at Starbucks, {Grande, low-fat, soy-milk, cappuccino with cocoa-- oh, and extra-hot}, my simplest, most useable form has been cluttered by "needs": Steady income. Good health. Trials that end quickly. Well-rested kids. Well-rested me. Praise and encouragement. . . Strip those things away one by one, and my legs would give out from under me. I would be on the floor.

But, of course, the floor is the place to be. Low. Listening. Available. Useable.

In the burnt offering you have God reaching out and saying, "You're mine. I want you." But in the meal offering you must say in response, "Yes, Lord, I'm yours. I give myself to you." ~Ray Stedman "The Way to Wholeness"

" . . . their offering is to be of the finest flour." {Lev. 2:1} Take some flour between your fingers. Each granule is indistinguishable from the next. Edges smoothed to silk. Ground down to purity. I'm yours to refine.
"They are to pour olive oil on it . . ." {Lev. 2:1} Oil is Spirit. Spirit resides within our human frames. Mingles. Awakens and empowers. I'm yours to guide.

" . . . put incense on it. . ." {Lev. 2:1} The aroma of praise and thanks has ever been pleasing to our God. But not the praise-fruit dripped from unclean lips. Rather, thanks offered up through Spirit. I'm yours in thanks.

What does that teach us but that the best performances of our hands must not appear before His Throne without the merit of Christ mingled with it? There must be that mixture of myrrh, aloes and cassia with which the garments of our Prince are perfumed to make our sacrifice to be a sweet savor to the Most High! Take care in your sacrifices that you bring the sacred frankincense.~Spurgeon

" . . . without yeast." {Lev. 2:5} The perfect agent for infiltration: yeast. Tiny grains that work to expand, to alter, to inflate. Like Israelites, shaking the bonds of servitude of their backs, but carrying with them mental-bonds of culture-taint, we are infused with our world. Beware the slow bloat. The seeping in of an identity that finds no resonance with the blood-bought you. Heart low, watch for signs of a false rising. I am yours to humble.
" Season all your grain offerings with salt. Do not leave the salt of the covenant of your God out of your grain offerings; add salt to all your offerings." {Lev. 2:13} Salt for the everlasting. A relationship perfectly preserved-- Spirit-sealed. Rest in eternal-mindedness. He said you are his. He never lies. He never changes his mind. Draw near. I am yours forever.
". . . you are not to burn any yeast or honey in a food offering presented to the LORD." {Lev. 2:11} Authenticity is raw. An unvarnished way of life, uninhibited by the thick coating of falsity. Our God sees hearts-- brushes away the pretty bow we try to tie around it. I am yours, plain and simple.

Ripe fruits were full of honey, full of sweetness—and God does not ask for sweetness, He asks for salt. . . There is a kind of molasses godliness which I can never stomach. It is always, “Dear this,” and, “Dear that,” and, “Dear the other,” and, “This dear man,” and, “That dear woman.” There is also a kind of honey-drop talk in which a person never speaks the plain truth. . . But the salt, which is sharp and when it gets into the wound makes it tingle, nevertheless does sound service. Whenever you come before God with your sacrifices, do not come with the pretense of a love you do not feel, nor with the beautiful nonsense of hypocrites, but come before the Lord in real, sober, earnest truth.

~Spurgeon

It is possible for love to move in only one direction. Any one of us can- have- poured ourselves out to a turned back. But no one would really call that a relationship. They would call that sad. Relationship begins with a response. Love offered. Love returned. Two people stepping toward one another in action.

Present yourself to Him. He has called. Answer.

God has been seeking us, and he says, "Now it is time for you to begin to seek me. I've been reaching out to you. Now you reach back to me." Draw near to God and he will draw near to you. This is the law of response in human nature. This is why John says, "We love, because he has first loved us," {1 Jn 4:19 RSV}. This is why the meal offering is the second of the offerings.

::Intro: Five Sacrifices::
::Part 1: Burnt::

:: The Cello Song::

2011-06-21T13:19:00.004-04:00

Stunning.
This song means a lot to Aidan and I. We played a rendition of this song on our Honeymoon. I will always associate the melody with fresh hope for the things ahead.
{Tim, thanks for finding this gem.}

:: A week of Sunrises::

2011-06-20T08:11:00.005-04:00

A few pictures of life this past week. Last weekend we "camped" at Kate and Dave's. They have the loveliest backyard. We ate around a bonfire and watched our little people frolic. Somehow, both families, including my very pregnant sister, ended up in tents, while I slept in the master bedroom (?!)

My brother turned 22. I look him in the eyes, and still have a hard time grasping his imminent entry into fatherhood. So many things I want to say to him, but haven't said. So I buried my lens in mom's lovely garden.

Park play and grilled chicken, growing gardens and mowed grass. A week of sunrises and sunsets. All is a gift.

::Burnt::

2011-06-14T09:38:00.001-04:00

A Burnt Gift.

Before all others. A death required. Blood spilled. Hands placed on head. Thanks groaned that it will die instead of you. Full consumption. Every scrap devoured by licking flames. A living thing now ash. While you breathe out gratefulness.

³ “‘If the offering is a burnt offering from the herd, you are to offer a male without defect. You must present it at the entrance to the tent of meeting so that it will be acceptable to the LORD. ⁴ You are to lay your hand on the head of the burnt offering, and it will be accepted on your behalf to make atonement for you.
~Leviticus 1~

Offering a Burnt Gift is to rest in the covering. In most Bible translations 'Atonement' stands in for the word copher, which means cover.

Cover. A thick down blanket weighing down warmth against winter chill. Cover. A lightning quick mother-hand covering young eyes from things that should never be seen. Cover. An old prophet tucked safely into wedge of rock as blinding Glory shows it's back. Or. . . a perfect man on a tree whose Holy blood forever stands between us and his Father.

Why, then, do we hide behind the Lord Jesus? . . . With regard to God, when I am a conscious sinner I long to hide away from him, and lo! the Lord Jesus is our shield and hiding-place, the cover, the sacred atonement within which we conceal ourselves from justice. Even the allseeing eye of God sees no sin in a sinner that is hidden in Christ.
~Spurgeon~

We know the dark things are just under the surface. But somehow God's fire took the lamb instead. The wonder of it. . .

"At the entrance" to our new lives, there must be a death. {Lev. 1:3}There must be blood. The old must be "covered" over once and for all. Rest in Christ's sacrifice. It pays in a way no other blood can.

Hands On. {Lev. 1:4} Place shaking hands on bowed head. Touch the one that will die for you. Keeping a guilty distance from the one who died for you will stem the flow of blessing that could run through you like the life-giving nutrients of an umbilical chord. Come close. Place two hands on the warmth of the Truth. Jesus died to place hands to face and wipe away tears.

Surely this is the very essence and nature of faith, which doth not only bring is into contact with the great Substitute, but teaches us to lean upon him with all the burden of our guilt." ~Spurgeon "Morning and Evening"

Be "fully consumed." {Lev. 1:6-9} We are Spirit houses. Be emptied of all the useless bits. Swept clean. Consecrated as Holy. Storm your way through the isles of your inner self and overturn what doesn't belong.

Keep burning. ". . .the fire on the altar must be kept burning. . ." {Lev. 6: 12} Don't grow cold. Tend to your inner fire. Feed it.

If you want to solve any other problem of life you have to begin there. "I belong to the Father, I am one of his family. I'm a child of God. I know him as my heavenly Father. I have been accepted by him. He loves me." If you do start there you have a basis upon which all the other relationships of life can all be worked out, for there, you see, this deep cry of the human heart is met. Jesus Christ meets us in that place. This is the burnt offering -- the need to belong. ~Ray Stedman "The Way to Wholeness"

::Jamaican Patties::

2011-06-10T16:53:00.000-04:00

Every now and I think of something I have culinarily taken for granted, and I make it my own.

::Jamaican Patties::

::F is for Foreign Fruits::

2011-06-09T16:05:00.011-04:00

Caelah and I visited the new Sobey's on our way to take her little sister to the doctor's for shots-- gulp! What a Gourmet heaven! Cheeses and meats of every description. And the fruit were too pretty to pass up: Starfruit, Grenadilla, Tomatillo, Lychee & Asian Brown Pear. With some at $3.oo each, this will not be a regular expenditure. Having played around with all of these new fruit, I have concluded that the most fun comes from seeing what the insides hold. The Lychee had white flesh with an olive-like pit. The Passionfruit was packed with slimy seeds. The persimmon had an orange outer flesh, but a blood red center. . .

A few of the ways we ate these beautiful things:

{::Starfruit Chips::}
Verdict: Tangy and interesting. The reminded me of dried apricot.

{::Charred Tomatillo Quacamole::}
Verdict: I really like tomatillos. They are a tangier, sweeter, prettier version of a tomato.

{::Asian Pears with Ginger-Maple Syrup::}
Verdict: What a disappointing pear! Grainy, with almost no flavour! Kind of like water chestnuts.

{::Persimmon Salsa::}
Verdict: Strangely muted. It had a hint of mango-like sweetness to it, but was far less interesting.

The Passionfruit a.k.a Grenadilla was our favourite: All it needed was a bit of whipped cream.

The Lychee? We ate it just as it is. A cross between a white grape and grapefruit. I love them.

::Five Sacrifices::

2011-06-08T07:29:00.000-04:00

Sacrifice.
A word I have yet to warm up to. Blood. Fire. Grim bowing of the body.
Sacrifice. A word that confronts me as I march through Leviticus. It must be reckoned with.

"That religion which costs a man nothing is usually worth nothing."
~Spurgeon~

A current of submission and sacrifice stirs inside me. Inside us all, who are housing Spirit. But how often do we wrestle our stiff, unyielding Selves aside to bow low to the dust? To give up the hardest things-- the things that make these mortal bodies tingle with pleasure? And then, should our bodies bend, how long do our hearts stay low too? Without the slow seeping-in of pride? Private self-ovations given for the outward cost. Bodies bent over smug smiles.

"Either you suffer temporarily and in a redemptive way, or [others are] going to suffer tragically, in a wasteful and destructive way."
~Keller~

Sacrifice. Temporary. Redemptive. . . A window opens onto the landscape of meaning. Jesus, the giver of eternity gave his perfect life-- and got it back. Along with every lost brother and sister his heart yearned for. The giving of his everything had an end and a reward: Life and lives gained.

Like him, and because of him, our sacrifices are the same: temporary and redemptive. The pain of the low-bend lasts for a time, but the posture holds because of the good and strong thing we are standing on, and the shining strands of purpose we see unfurling behind, before and beside us. Like a strong green shoot winding its way out of good soil, the things I rip free and hand over in this life will strip me back, even as I continue to grow, my roots dig deeper, and new green things sprout up beside me.

The Levitical Sacrifices are stunning portraits of bending. They are Five: Burnt. Grain. Peace. Sin. Guilt. Five names. Five needs addressed. Five gifts given. Slowly, I am unpacking them and studying them like Renoirs. Textures, techniques, meaning.

As I go I will share. And I pray I will bend ever lower as I go.

:: Amanda & Baby Brayden ::

2011-06-05T22:34:00.008-04:00

::E is for . . . Goose Eggs::

2011-06-05T21:32:00.003-04:00

A local, who shall remain nameless, is providing us with wonderfully-priced fresh eggs from his own ducks and hens. As a huge egg-enthusiast, my husband has been indulging in egg breakfasts every other morning for most of our married life. Poaching eggs is his newest infatuation. Any one out there got a killer Eggs Benedict recipe? As of yet, Aidan remains defeated by the elusive Hollandaise sauce.

::D is for Discovering Dragonflies::

2011-05-30T21:38:00.003-04:00

D is for...

Discovering newly hatched dragonflies at ::Baxter Conservation Area::
Unlike adult dragonflies, these tinies settled onto arms and happily remained. Other discoveries: water spiders, toads and leaches. Annorah's personal discovery: Mommy "fishes" for my net every time I drop it into the pond.

::C is for. . . ::

2011-05-25T16:57:00.011-04:00

C is for. . .

Cookies I can't seem to get enough of. I have posted this recipe ::before:: but thought it was worth doing again because they are so delicious. I made a batch to appease my family, who have had to endure sugar-free baking lately.

::B is for . . . ::

2011-05-23T08:07:00.001-04:00

B is for. . .

The Magnolia Buds that Blossom into pink beauties in May.

B is also for. . .

Brothers on a swing.

::Alphabet Photography::

2011-05-20T14:47:00.010-04:00

'Tis the season for better light to take photos by! I spotted a neat idea/excuse to take useless, but pretty pictures at a blog called :

Just stumbled upon it. They ladies came up with an Alphabet-themed photo project that encourages us to take photos of the things that are around us ::PhotoMeme::

A is for. . .
Art my kids made for their new nephew. I decided to wash each canvas with Aunt-friendly colours, (she loves blues and greens), and then had them look through our faithful go-to book on animals: ZOO ology by Joelle Jolivet.

They each chose an animal. Oddly, of all of Earth's wildlife 3 0f the 4 chose sea creatures. Amanda will be able to sing the Sesame Street Classic "One of these things is not like the other. Three of these things are kinda the same..." I drew the outline of each animal in pencil. They painted it in! I think I will frame them together. Or maybe string them together in a wire. . .

::Refuge::

2011-05-15T21:52:00.008-04:00

A family I love to the depths of my being has been gathered under the wing of the Almighty. His wings are the safest home they will ever know.

⁴ He will cover you with his feathers,

and under his wings you will find refuge;
~Psalm 91~

::Good::

2011-05-10T18:16:00.004-04:00

I have a shelter-friend.
She reminded me again, that Good is something you live . . .

Back at the beginning, when God was speaking everything we know into being, he pronounced it all good. The light & darkness was good. The fruits and plants were good. The birds and fish were good. And then He shaped the man and the woman, and gave over all of the things that came before into their care and said; Go use them. Go flourish and thrive with the help of these good things. Is this not good defined? The marvelous things God crafted were called good in direct relation to the glorious use of them in our hands. How will we spend the bounty?

And spend we must. Good is active.

⁶"Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
⁷Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked,
to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? ⁸ Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.
⁹Then you shall call,
and the LORD will answer;
you shall cry, and he will say, 'Here I am.'
If you take away the yoke from your midst,
the pointing of the finger,
and speaking wickedness,
¹⁰ if you pour yourself out for the hungry
and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be as the noonday. ¹¹And the LORD will guide you continually
and satisfy your desire in scorched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.
~Isaiah 58~

We love to be invested in-- to be spent on-- but do we love to spend ourselves on others? I know you all know the way your heart flutters after it has discerned a need, and sacrificed for the Joy of another. There is an inherent sense of fulfillment in giving without strings attached. Is your mind conjuring up warm pies and meals, still warm, dropped at the doorstep? But there are other kinds of good that can't fill a belly. There is the giving of your Story.

When we are in the depths, we convince ourselves that we are alone. We think we are unwanted, and an only resident on this particular map of misery, (or sin). And then another comes to you and tells you that she has a place on that map. She has experienced this same despair. And the raw vulnerability of the words flood you with a security of belonging. So, why do we hide?

Is it just me, or are more and more people walking around in plain daylight, completely walled up and invisible? No one wants to reveal a chink in their armour. No one wants to be seen on their knees. No one wants to be thought of as weak.

"The more we play this "hiding game" the less people feel they belong".
~Beth Moore~

Strangers walking in a crowd of strangers are still alone.

Heard this new Jars of Clay on a drive. It fit.
In the shelter on each other we will live.

{::Photo Credit::}

::While he was gone::

2011-05-09T14:57:00.009-04:00

While Aidan was away {on a beach in the Dominican Republic}. . .

. . . we played dress up.

. . . we bashed a few teeth loose.

. . . my dear friends babysat me.

. . . And we all survived. He swooped back home to give me a beautiful Mothers' Day:

Apple & brie crepes-- take note of the star cut-outs.

My kids made me the most intricate cards with multiple tiny envelopes, all filled with money from their piggy banks. I think they handed me over about $20 between them. This was extremely sacrificial of them, as I have observed their gleeful deposits over the years. {I will discretely tuck their money back into their jars when I get a chance.}

A Happy Day to all of you beautiful women!

::Coffee. Even when the lights go out::

2011-05-02T12:26:00.003-04:00

Last week, a wind storm, unlike anything I have ever experienced, blew through town. Our neighbours had a window ripped off! A barn down the road, simply grew tired of standing and slumped onto itself, leaving only a peaked roof. Our little house, along with all of our lovely trees stood firm. Thank you God! And life went on. I gathered candles and lanterns, and set about placing them strategically throughout the house. Our propane stove cooked our dinner. And my ingenious husband found a way for us to have our treasured afternoon cup of coffee. He filled our grinder with beans and headed out to the car where he used the power adapter to fuel the little machine. He came in and "brewed" our coffee over a thermos using boiled water, a funnel and a filter. Ta da! Blow wind! Blow!

::Keep Walking::

2011-04-26T11:00:00.008-04:00

Teacher: "Stop second-guessing."

My words. Ever my power. Ever my weapon. Allow vibrating-throat to release formed thoughts? Or clip them off with teeth clamped?

Student: "Yeah, that's been the burden I carry these days. . . Do you ever do that?"

Tell me you do.

Teacher: "Not really."

How can that be?

Student: "What do you do when you've made a mistake? I mean, what goes on inside your head?"

Teach. This student needs to learn.

Teacher: "Not much. We have a Saviour who forgives. So I keep walking."

Keep walking.

Teacher: "Better to make the mistakes while pouring out love than to give hurting people nothing at all. It's the love they will remember."

The love.

Teacher: "Love covers over a multitude of sins."

Truth-Breathed Scripture. 'Yes!' echoes in me.

Student: "Ah, yes. And there it is."

Keep loving.
Keep walking.

::Purple Ballerina::

2011-04-21T03:36:00.000-04:00

::Built to Last::

2011-04-20T15:28:00.000-04:00

Specimen A.
A centuries-old piece of a rotting Spanish caravel ship that carried explorers to America?
No.
In fact it is a 3 year-old part from our washing machine, courtesy of the crooks at Whirlpool inc.

Specimen B.
Specimen A's replacement, and soon to be barnacled twin.

Just a friendly reminder to check the guts of your big machines every now and then. (Even if they are new!) They might need surgery.

::Ten Boundary Stones::

2011-04-17T13:34:00.001-04:00

". . . but showing steadfast love to thousands who love me and keep my commandments."
~Exodus 20:6~

Can anyone put words to the texture of pain in watching a beloved spit at the God you breathe for? This God whose hand has smoothed out the sharp edges of my own rebellion with such tenderness. Whose commandments have become the downy blankets which form around my vulnerable, sleeping frame, washing away fear. His Words are my boundaries. My safe-keeping. Within them are the Canaan grasses and sweet waters of goodness that keep me from wanting to wander into the desert again. The wasteland where I playacted at being god of my own brokenness.

Commandments.
Haven to one.
Hated walls of another.

In Exodus 20, God himself etched ten laws into stone for His people. One of them is this: Do not craft another god and hold it up higher than me in your life. God continues to explain that supplanting Him as God will have ramifications that bleed into the future in ways that we can't understand from our limited vantage point.

God assures us that He sees the truth of this: ". . . visiting the sins of the fathers on the children to the third and forth generation of those who hate me. . ." We often read this verse to mean that a parents' sins lead to decades of divine punishment for their children. Looking at the original language we can see that the word visiting, in this verse means review or inspect in Hebrew. In other words, God can see the pattern from his divine vantage point and wants us to know about it-- the slow seeping of a stubborn life of sin into the lives of our children and grandchildren.

Everything within these verses speaks to the reality of natural consequences. I once read a fairy tale about a Queen who became so enamoured of herself, and so fiercely protective of her beauty that she looked into a mirror every moment of the day-- standing vigil for the day of it's fading. Her own reflection held her gaze like a vise. Meanwhile, her tiny daughter was left to wander without her mother's care. Not even a tug at her mother's hem could earn her a look or touch. Eventually it was the shattered mirror that killed the Queen, and a piece of the mirror lodged in the daughter's heart, making her cold-- unable to feel warmth.
The vanity and neglect of a mother.
The coldness and isolation of a daughter.

It would not be hard to draw parallels from fantasy to reality: sad stories of action and consequence.

Stripping the Exodus text down to it's roots we see something that shimmers with meaning under the surface: . . . but showing steadfast love. . . That word actually means build or craft. Whereas the consequences of living outside the walls of God's ways fall upon us naturally and inevitably, the good things in our lives are worked in by a God who builds.

"Whoever has my commands and keeps them, he it is who loves me. And he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him."
~John 14:21~

God actively works goodness into our lives when we actively work Him into our lives. God actively carved out ten stunningly clear boundary stones within which, if we choose to live, good will come to us and those who follow us. Within the parameters of God's commandments we are told we will be fueled by a power source unlike any other beyond the gates: Himself. The God who laid the boundaries will show Himself to us throughout our lives of discipline. Never more true is the saying; If we read between the lines. . . If we determine to hedge our lives about with the ten stones of God's ways, He promises to show us Himself in each stone indentation. In each true and perfect word. In each act of obedience to those commands. In each moment safeguarded by a life of self-discipline.

Having spent years watching the back of a loved one, while he walks steadily away from the boundary lines, I can't help but grab hold of this: The consequence of sin are said to last for a time, while the love of God, and the goodness it brings are said to last forever. There is the hope. A boy can turn.

Commandments are not a prison. They are the arms of a Father.
Running from them is like a child who tears free from a parent's embrace and runs headlong into the desert-- leaving behind safety, support and direction. And as he goes, he slowly lays down his own boundary stones. One for anger. One for indulgence. One for spite. One for a throne. Within the stones, he creates a pasture of parched isolation, where the only face he sees is his own. The once-familiar contours of a Father's face fading.

". . . For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, declares the Lord God; so turn, and live.”
~Ezekiel 18:32~

::Egyptian Art::

2011-04-14T09:01:00.001-04:00

Caelah and I tried our hand at Egyptian art. I studied an original painting, cut out the bits I didn't care for and kept the pretty bits.

Cae stuck with a single butter
-fly.

Another thing we tried was drawing on sandpaper. It has a similar effect as painting on rock.

I have always loved artistically reducing real life images into simpler lines. This is an essential Egyptian technique that, in combination with bold, beautiful colours, gives me such an affinity in me for this art.

::Golden Gladiola::

2011-04-11T14:23:00.006-04:00

::For the Generations to Come::

2011-04-08T10:20:00.007-04:00

Moses said, “This is what the LORD has commanded: ‘Take an omer of manna and keep it for the generations to come, so they can see the bread I gave you to eat in the desert when I brought you out of Egypt.’”

~Exodus 16:32~

In my Exodus studies, I came across God's gift of manna, sent like dew to the desert each morning for the wandering Israelites. It was a completely strange and wondrous thing. No one had ever seen it before. And no one ever would again. Except for those who took a peek inside the jar, that is. God opened His hand of blessing to His people in the form of a unique gift: sweet bread falling from the sky in flakes. A one-of-a-kind blessing suited to the needs of a one-of-a-kind people.

The God of manna is our God also. This is the same God who opens His hand to us this very day. The One who rained down manna rains down unique blessings upon each of of His children as they need it. Do we sift through the dew of the dawn to find our manna? This morning, when you woke up in the sunlit crinkles of your bed, what did He have waiting for you? Look. Pray that He gives you eyes to see the things He sends.

And then. . . Store them up.
In a jar? Maybe not-- if only we could!-- but what then?
How will we pass on God's Goodness to us to our children and their children?

I write.
It began when I was 6. Simple and raw. Precious facts about my uncomplicated existence: my brother was annoying, my cat died, Jenny got mad at me at school, the weather was rainy. Halting snippets scrawled by an untested hand. Linear. Oblivious. Full of Hope.
A memorial to the God who protected and nurtured me.

My writing continued into a womanhood of brand names and makeup. Subtly, at first, the pages became tainted with Self. The events of the day were written through a lens of self-consciousness and flattery. Every compliment was recorded. Every injustice was taken note of, and refuted. Every sinful action was justified and quietly put to bed without repentance. Flowing odes to Self, seamlessly strung together by a hand in denial. Stained. But Aware. Full of Pride.
A memorial to the God who did not grow weary of patiently drawing me out of myself.

Now, I write for glory. Not mine. His.
I am learning to sense his Hand of provision and guidance, and I am following the trail of Him with words. The manna I collect in my basket is renewal, reconciliation, growth, trial, loss, love, pain, victory. These endless gifts from His hand. They alight on the ground, wisps on the periphery, easily unrecognized. Many times I trod upon them, unaware that I have been touched. My lips never open in praise for the unseen and unknown. I pray that I will have the eyes to see Him move. And when I do, I capture the Goodness in words, if I can. I write with a hand of love. Redeemed. Striving. Full of Joy.

A memorial to my God who transforms me even as the sun rises.

::Impressionist Apples::

2011-04-04T12:32:00.000-04:00

First poetry, now art. We are finishing up our subjects one by one. We finished our unit on John Singer Sargent by trying to paint in his style. A very daunting task. In the end we just followed a few basic principles, in Sargent's own words:

1. You do not want dabs of color, you want plenty of paint to
paint with.

2. Don't you see it? The way the light quivers across it?

3. If you begin with the
middle-tone and work up from in towards the darks -- so
that you deal last with your highest lights and darkest
darks -- you avoid false accents.

::Last Day in New York::

2011-04-03T08:37:00.002-04:00

Our last day.

It was 9:30 when we woke up in the morning. Unheard of at home. We had all been curled up on the couch watching a ::Keith Green documentary::, (what an amazing guy he was!) when I looked over at Sus and saw she had passed out. I remember thinking; Well, then I can too! And I don't remember a whole lot more. The smell of cooking lead me to the kitchen. Rick had made pancakes. He says he uses a recipe for crepes, but just makes them thick. "Pancakes are just so spongy," he said. Exactly!

Sus and I had conspired the day before to get out on our own, and sprung the idea to the menfolk. I knew Aidan would be content with down time anyways. So, I had a shower while Sus got the kids ready for a trip to the park, and the men set out for a morning in the sun while we hit the Subway. I wanted to see the World Trade Center site. The stop spit us out right at it's feet. All I could really see was construction, and a partly-built tower. We wandered into the a church that has been converted into an informal museum/memorial. Sorrow is still very near the surface for most people. I can't believe it was a decade ago! It does feel like it only just happened.

We set off in search of SOHO, but were directed in the opposite direction. No problem! Walking is what I came to this city to do! So we turned around and headed back the way we had come.

We swung into a store called ::Pearl River::, filled with colourful Asian wares. I settled on some small shoes for Norah, four tiny kettles, and cups and a sushi set for Josh & Karin. Eventually, we found The Angelique Cafe I had so enjoyed a few days before. Sus loved it immediately. We ordered way too much food and ate most of it. The same waitress was working, and in my naivety, I assumed she would remember me. She pretended too. It appears she is equally invested in each customer.

Back home, I sat next to Aidan on the floor of Amelia's room and unwound. It occurred to me that I had to eat out at a restaurant one hour from then, and my stomach was still very full. we had decided to leave our dinner location up to the recommendations of Rick & Sus. They both suggested a local Italian place called ::Convivium Osteria::. An intimidating name, but not a cozy establishment. I even loved the sign above the door. A very warm interior--copper and gold everywhere. I loved it. The staff were a little intense. They all had a very hard time speaking English, and because we were the first to sit down, we were stared at. But, it was nothing like the glares I experienced the day before from the cradle-robber.

First, we ordered a cheese platter that was sooooooooooo good. We also had a bowl of crunchy French bread and olive oil. Then came my fish in a white wine reduction and Aidan's braised ribs. We were both very pleased with our meal.

After the meal I asked if we could walk and walk and walk. And just as we set out to travel a long way down 7th Ave we came upon Tom, a childhood friend. What are the odds?! Tom kept mentioning Ottawa-- and my mom. She has left a deep impression on him. I am not surprised. She leaves that impression of everyone. I can just picture little Tom sitting between the two intense sisters while we girls fluttered about worrying about our hair. He must have preferred our mothers' company. Can't blame him. We left, having decided they needed to come and stay with us. Two New Yorkers who actually value, both love kids and the countryside!

::New York: Day 3::

2011-04-02T07:58:00.001-04:00

I wonder how many miles I have walked so far? Many, many, many.

Susanna and I spent the morning being crafty-- literally. We did some decoupage. It is amazing what can be done with old magazines and ModPodge. Rick is a talented artist. His paintings are here and there around the house. This is his latest. Classic Brooklyn:

In the afternoon, I made my second solo trip on the Subway to 34th. The plan: dinner in Soho. I waited for Aidan in the lobby and The Pennsylvania Hotel and read a book. I eavesdropped on a greasy pair of Latino men trying to lasso one another into a business deal. "I don't mess around. I am just telling you like it is. If some other guy offers my 400 thousand, I will have to accept." This is not my world!

We walked hand in hand from 34th to 4th. We made a pit-stop at Whole Foods, because we are food nerds and, while being unmoved my Hollywood stars, are deeply moved by Top Chefs who might have run down these isles for a Quickfire.

We veered East to SOHO and found ourselves wandering down some really neat streets, densely packed with shops and overhanging awnings. Our journey ended at The Mercer Kitchen. We had a few restaurants in mind, but settled on the first one we bumped into. It was a memorable experience in more ways then one. First off, the food did not disappoint: tuna rolls, lobster with roasted garlic and new potatoes, and braised short ribs that fell of the bone. The things is, in New York, the good places get stuffed with crazy people. Two of whom sat just across the way. He was about 50, with a severe face and a sleek, bare head. She was platinum blond, with electric blue thigh-high sicks and no skirt to be seen, and certainly no older that 20. They were devouring one another. The man saw me staring and I could feel the challenge from across the room. What are you going to do about it? And for the next 30 minutes, if I looked up from talking with Aidan, he was glaring at me with a smirk. Shudder. I was so relied when they left.

Next came the party to our right. One script-writer, we gathered, and three actresses who, oddly enough, looked more or less alike. The extant of the conversation was this: Man shares his script idea, girls gush and gush and gush and gush using only three word: Fantastic! Fabulous! And Phenomenal!

I grew sad, when, after having been exposed to death-stares and too many F-words, I wandered down to use the washrooms in the bar area and found the dinner experience of my life waiting. Turns out the bar area was gorgeous! Dark and glittery and cozy. Sigh. Aidan reminded me that the Mercer Bar was completely booked up. We wouldn't have been able to eat there anyways. But it was so pretty! (Apparently a huge famous-person hangout.)

We stopped off for desert much closer to home at The Chocolate Room. Rick and Susanna had recommended it, and we'd walked ourselves into a bit of extra tummy-space. Very cozy. Like every shop around, exposed brick and high ceilings. We sat at the bar and watched the kitchen do it's thing. One girl clearly ran the show. This lady worked with zeal. She stuck her tongue out when she whipped cream and gritted her teeth when cutting cake, and scooped ice cream like it was nobody's business. And she never stood still for a second. She had a curious pair of tattoos on her upper arms. A figure stretching his arms upwards to a stand of trees. and a bird flying upward. It made me think of Jesus' baptism, but am sure it is likely an Aboriginal/ Mother Earth thing.
Aidan ordered a Chocolate Stout Float made from Brooklyn Brewery’s Black Chocolate Stout and vanilla ice cream. I ordered more traditionally, (hey, don't mess with chocolate!): Brownie Sunday: The essence of homemade… house brownies warmed to order, topped with and a fresh cherry.

The experience could have been marred by the lone cockroach that crept up the painting by our seats. But Aidan quietly crushed it out of existence with his napkin, and we just pretended we hadn't seen a thing. I silently tried to recall, though, if I have felt a crunch while eating my Sunday. Good thing we kept quiet. Minutes later I smashed one of their glasses. It was easier to walk away than it would have been if we had just told them they might have a roach problem.