My friend Heidi, who I mentioned earlier this month, has been featured in a short film about what Home means to four nomads.
You can check it out here:
http://vimeo.com/39100216
A paraphrased quote from the film: "To me, home is not a place, but a state of mind. If home was a place, I would picture it like an archipelago, all the countries I grew up in... like the islands, and me, I am the sea, connecting them all."
and... "I feel at home, here, there and everywhere, but belong nowhere...home keeps moving."
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
40
Today I told stories to the young women I am mentoring for our current missions training school. To one, I told the story of Wade washing me with his words of truth. And I also told our story of home, the journey of the last 2 years. TWO YEARS.
The story that two years, 3 months and 10 days ago we were evicted from the house where we had birthed 2 of our children, and made home for countless people.
The story that I knew that I knew that I knew that I knew that we were not supposed to rent another house.
The story that there was no plan B for homelessness, except trust.
And the story that we were not without a place to lay our heads for the 17 months we were without a home of our own.
The story of the deep blue heartache and pain of waiting in the fall in Canada, the golden winter in California, and mean reds of a return that felt like tearing things out again and again until we landed, exactly 40 houses later
I SAID FORTY, as in biblical times of waiting and preparation and lesson learning 40, houses later at the tiny house.
I always thought I knew that the journey was the thing. But I know now. How long? How long?
As long as it takes.
The story that two years, 3 months and 10 days ago we were evicted from the house where we had birthed 2 of our children, and made home for countless people.
The story that I knew that I knew that I knew that I knew that we were not supposed to rent another house.
The story that there was no plan B for homelessness, except trust.
And the story that we were not without a place to lay our heads for the 17 months we were without a home of our own.
The story of the deep blue heartache and pain of waiting in the fall in Canada, the golden winter in California, and mean reds of a return that felt like tearing things out again and again until we landed, exactly 40 houses later
I SAID FORTY, as in biblical times of waiting and preparation and lesson learning 40, houses later at the tiny house.
I always thought I knew that the journey was the thing. But I know now. How long? How long?
As long as it takes.
Show, Not Tell
Tues Oct 9
Lovely opportunity not to blog. Pax needed a snuggle, and I lay down with him and fell asleep for the night.
Wed Oct 10
The challenge from www.lisajobaker.com today:
We were moving as fast as Dave talks, as fast as he thinks, and he caught it all. He was as generous with his energy, and his praise, and his rapid fire lens as he and Andrea were with their home, and their time and their food and their lives.
You can't see Andrea often. She is only in one or two pictures. You can't see that even though she is quiet, if you talk with her she is just as likely to tear up with emotion as she is to bless you with her cracked-open grin. You can't see that she brought the cookies, and crackers and blankets, that she rigged Nori's dress with the clip from a bag, that she is the reason Dave can operate like he does.
And Nate, Nate who chased the waves with Sophia until they were tired out, chasing the sun, letting the waves chase them down. And all the while, their Philadelphia bones, our Canadian bones, sang to us... "You are on the beach at sunset, when everyone at home is wearing sweaters..."
You can see how we were healing there, re-writing our story there, becoming more, becoming closer, how we were loved and celebrated and supported, by strangers who became our friends, like family.
You can see why it was so hard to leave, and why it fueled us for this journey, why now, as fall turns towards towards winter in Canada again, these are the pictures that sing to us from the walls in the tiny house in the dark.
Lovely opportunity not to blog. Pax needed a snuggle, and I lay down with him and fell asleep for the night.
Wed Oct 10
The challenge from www.lisajobaker.com today:
Write with all five senses.
Give us the flavor of the day, the moment, the memory. The more details you weave into your story the easier it is for us to relate. Because now we’re right there with you. On that hard packed sandy beach with a breeze that feels more like an old friend than a reason to tie hair up in a ponytail.
Slow down and remember. Then write – like you’re serving a five course meal. So that we can savor every delicious word of your story.
I remember. Because it happened at a photo shoot, so it is well documented, by David, for us. What you can see in our faces, is how much fun we had. None of it was made up.
I remember. Because it happened at a photo shoot, so it is well documented, by David, for us. What you can see in our faces, is how much fun we had. None of it was made up.
We were moving as fast as Dave talks, as fast as he thinks, and he caught it all. He was as generous with his energy, and his praise, and his rapid fire lens as he and Andrea were with their home, and their time and their food and their lives.
You can't see Andrea often. She is only in one or two pictures. You can't see that even though she is quiet, if you talk with her she is just as likely to tear up with emotion as she is to bless you with her cracked-open grin. You can't see that she brought the cookies, and crackers and blankets, that she rigged Nori's dress with the clip from a bag, that she is the reason Dave can operate like he does.
And Nate, Nate who chased the waves with Sophia until they were tired out, chasing the sun, letting the waves chase them down. And all the while, their Philadelphia bones, our Canadian bones, sang to us... "You are on the beach at sunset, when everyone at home is wearing sweaters..."
We were on the hard-packed sand, the waves crashing into the pier. The salt air around us, gulls crying.
We were there at sunset for the shadows, for the light, on purpose, but it put into us a feeling of catching magic, catching moments and we were sucking the marrow out of it. Perhaps that is why only amazing Mexican food afterward would suffice.
You can see in our faces how well we were being loved.
You can see in us how much we love each other.
We were there at sunset for the shadows, for the light, on purpose, but it put into us a feeling of catching magic, catching moments and we were sucking the marrow out of it. Perhaps that is why only amazing Mexican food afterward would suffice.
You can see in our faces how well we were being loved.
You can see in us how much we love each other.
You can see how we were healing there, re-writing our story there, becoming more, becoming closer, how we were loved and celebrated and supported, by strangers who became our friends, like family.
All photos, includig the IMAGE AT THE TOP OF THIS BLOG AND MY PROFILE PICTURE, by the incredible David Difuntorum, San Diego California.
But he sometimes goes to Philly, or really, he'll do almost anything to take photos that will strengthen your marriage and family to thrive, survive and come alive.
www.daviddifuntorum.com www.awesomedave.com
www.daviddifuntorum.com www.awesomedave.com
Monday, October 08, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving
When Sophia is happy, she sings. I am in my room, and I can hear her outside right now. It is a cold, crisp, beautiful fall day. We can se the mountains of the North Shore from our little back yard. She is painting outside on her new easel, she is painting a picture of the sunrise. Prior to her painting her own picture she set Eleanor up first, and encouraged her as she painted. "Mum, come look at Eleanor she is doing so well!" They were such a lovely picture, in their pajamas topped with coats and vests to stay warm, topped with smocks and aprons. Sophia is singing long swooping lines adapted from the score of the How To Train Your Dragon films, and there are words mixed in I can't make out. "La da da da da da da" .... She is blissfully happy right now, without worry, and I am so, so grateful.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
A Day Of Rest
For Sunday Oct 5
Yesterday, on Sunday, we had a busy morning with various church commitments and a big lunch after church. We were all tired and when we came home, Pax fell asleep. The wonder of the afternoon was, so did Wade and I. The girls played and watched some Netflix, and we slept until Pax woke up. The girls crawled into bed with me and we read Charlotte's Web and ate chocolate while Wade made supper. Our upstairs neighbours are away, so the house was quieter, and while our girls adore having their little girls to play with all the time, it was so nice to have no one coming and going. We all settled in and had the most restful, lazy afternoon and evening. I can not remember the last time we did that, and I am not just using an expression. I actually can not remember a day so restful in our recent family history.
It occurred to me that I would not have been able to be so relaxed and restful had I been purposeful about making this house feel more like home for myself in the last few weeks. It has not been much of anything physical, simply being more intentional about tidying up, getting out my fall decorations, choosing to light candles in the evening, and embracing this season of fall in all its fruitfulness and wisdom. The incredible sunshine has been helpful beyond expression. It blesses me that this is how patient and caring God is in speaking to me when I am aware. Layer upon layer, moment upon moment, building one on the other until I am able to say: "How did we arrive at this lovely place? Ah, yes, all your hints and nudges, pointing me in this right direction. Thank you."
Yesterday, on Sunday, we had a busy morning with various church commitments and a big lunch after church. We were all tired and when we came home, Pax fell asleep. The wonder of the afternoon was, so did Wade and I. The girls played and watched some Netflix, and we slept until Pax woke up. The girls crawled into bed with me and we read Charlotte's Web and ate chocolate while Wade made supper. Our upstairs neighbours are away, so the house was quieter, and while our girls adore having their little girls to play with all the time, it was so nice to have no one coming and going. We all settled in and had the most restful, lazy afternoon and evening. I can not remember the last time we did that, and I am not just using an expression. I actually can not remember a day so restful in our recent family history.
It occurred to me that I would not have been able to be so relaxed and restful had I been purposeful about making this house feel more like home for myself in the last few weeks. It has not been much of anything physical, simply being more intentional about tidying up, getting out my fall decorations, choosing to light candles in the evening, and embracing this season of fall in all its fruitfulness and wisdom. The incredible sunshine has been helpful beyond expression. It blesses me that this is how patient and caring God is in speaking to me when I am aware. Layer upon layer, moment upon moment, building one on the other until I am able to say: "How did we arrive at this lovely place? Ah, yes, all your hints and nudges, pointing me in this right direction. Thank you."
Saturday, October 06, 2012
In A Tiny House
In a tiny house, by a tiny stream, lived a lovely lass, had a lovely dream...
So goes the first line of a song my Mum used to sing to me when I was a little girl and I sing to my Eleanor now as a lullaby. I have never before this moment googled it, but I have just learned it was a hit in England in 1954, when my Mum would have been 6 years old. A perfect example of something that feels like it belonged to only me, only my family, when really it came from the land of my parent's birth... I just don't realize it.
My Mum and Dad came to Canada in 1970, leaving both their families in England. Later my Dad's sister and her husband followed as well as his parents, but all of my Mum's family is still in England.
My Dad's sister is my Auntie Gill. Auntie Gill and Uncle Paul are my godparents and live about a 40 minute drive away from us now. Their only son, and my only Canadian cousin, lives in South Korea now, but we have the honour of being close enough to them to soak up their love, and provide them with someone to make some noise and eat their food when they are lonely. Their house feels like a home to me, a piece of familiar connection, a tie to my British roots and a source of love and welcome. Tea flows there almost constantly, and we read Hello! magazines and have entirely unironic conversations about whether or not Camilla will ever be Queen.
We spent a glorious day with them today. It was an incredibly beautiful fall day, and had a wonderful time making lots of memories. There were both pony rides and gelato involved. Two years ago, a month or two after we had been evicted, we spent an equally glorious fall day with them, but I remember being in so much pain from our eviction and the fallout afterward, and deep in the mystery of what on earth we would do while we were homeless (we had all our stuff in storage waiting for God to do something, and God did, just not the something we thought God would do) and Gill said something along the lines of, "It hurts now, but one day you will realize it has gone, and that you have moved on, and it doesn't hurt so much any more." That was true today, and a blessing to reflect on.
While we were together today, I told my Uncle Paul about a conversation Sophia had recently had with her friend. Her friend was upset becasue Sophia had tried to change the direction of a game while they were playing, by introducing a whole new story line to the game about fairies. Her friend had protested and told Sophia that Christians could not believe in fairies because God didn't make fairies and they were not real. This grieved Sophia to the point of weeping, a long, sobbing weep and conversation with Wade and I that lasted for what felt like an hour.
It came out that she absolutely believes in fairies, and that she also absolutely believes in Jesus and being a follower of Jesus is very important to her and she could not reconcile the two. Now, her friends parents and we have talked. We have applied all the lessons about how we can be friends with people who do not believe the same things as we do, and how incredible Christian writers have conceived the greatest works of fantasy and magic, and Sophia and her friend are still dear friends because Sophia has a lovely elastic, generous forgiving heart.
The other thing you should know is that when Sophia was small I was VERY concerned about her knowing the truth, and that when she was 3 I told her that Santa Claus was a game we play and that the real meaning of Christmas was all about Jesus. And I did the same thing at Easter with the Easter Bunny. And you know what? She did not ignore me, or not listen, I just think she believes in magic too much to possibly take it in. She said, "Yes Mum, but do you know where Santa lives?" and so on. She taught me that it was very, very, very important to believe in fantasy and make-believe. and she has no memory of those early conversations and has invested in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and any other fairy, for that matter. She knows and senses truth but she holds just as holy any time she can sense grown-ups investing in a magical world and she RUNS with it and we have learned not to take it from her, but go with it, because we learn from her every time.
When I was telling my Uncle Paul all about the fairy conversation, little did I know what he had on his mind. He was almost sick, and needed to go for a walk and a smoke, and I reassured him she still believed in fairies but I had no idea the level of concern. When we got to his house, he kept hinting and hinting that he had discovered something special while he had been digging in the yard. Sophia and Eleanor and I went out to explore, and behind an incredible gnarly stump in the yard, surrounded by tiny iridescent stars, was a fairy house. A tiny red light glimmered and shone as the girls looked at it. There was a door, with the handle carved, with (what must have been) fairy runes on it. There was a little wooden table and chairs, all carved from stumps. There was a basket with the tiniest tomatoes in it, a holder with three wands in it, a message on a leaf wrapped up in a hole. There was a wooden fairy ring and a tiny, silver, blue bell shaped lantern. Sophia could not contain herself, physically or vocally. Eleanor ran in circles. Eleanor saw the red light again (it looked a lot like the red light that shines from the end of Uncle Paul's laser level, but she didn't know that) Sophia squealed with delight, "I can not believe I found evidence of fairies!" It was so real, and palpable, I thought that there was every single possibility that there really are fairies in the world and that I was ridiculous to think I could know there were not. And as the girls ran around the yard I could not contain my tears of wonder and joy. All that time. All that effort.
And Uncle Paul had no idea that this special magic faith of Soph's had been so threatened. He just loved that the girls like Auntie Gill's fairy statues, and that have spent time in his garden waiting for fairies and wanted to help them along in their sense of wonder and magic. He told me today that when he was a boy, his Mum read him Peter Pan, and that it is still his favourite, and that he still wants to fly. I so believe that the Father above, the giver of good gifts, the Mother heart, gave my crusty atheist Uncle a nudge to deliver the purest joy I have seen. I also believe that God gave me a similar nudge, to provide the back story today, to choose, of all the stories I could have told him about the girls, that particular one, so that Paul could know the depth of his gift & how much it mattered.
We were so happy we took no pictures. It was too special. We were all giddy with joy. Auntie Gill has promised to send one later, but she doesn't do the digital send. The girls named all the fairy statues, convinced now that Bagitte, and Joy, and Angela would come to life when it was dark, when we weren't looking. Before we left we had to sneak peeks out the darkened windows and turn on the porch lights to see if the statues moved. On the way home in the car, with the younger two asleep, I had no idea Sophia was still awake. I said to Wade, "I can't believe that fairy house." And a little voice piped up, "I was just thinking the same thing. At Easter time, instead of an easter egg hunt, I want to have a fairy hunt."
In a tiny house, by a tiny stream, lived a lovely lass, who had a lovely dream.
So goes the first line of a song my Mum used to sing to me when I was a little girl and I sing to my Eleanor now as a lullaby. I have never before this moment googled it, but I have just learned it was a hit in England in 1954, when my Mum would have been 6 years old. A perfect example of something that feels like it belonged to only me, only my family, when really it came from the land of my parent's birth... I just don't realize it.
My Mum and Dad came to Canada in 1970, leaving both their families in England. Later my Dad's sister and her husband followed as well as his parents, but all of my Mum's family is still in England.
My Dad's sister is my Auntie Gill. Auntie Gill and Uncle Paul are my godparents and live about a 40 minute drive away from us now. Their only son, and my only Canadian cousin, lives in South Korea now, but we have the honour of being close enough to them to soak up their love, and provide them with someone to make some noise and eat their food when they are lonely. Their house feels like a home to me, a piece of familiar connection, a tie to my British roots and a source of love and welcome. Tea flows there almost constantly, and we read Hello! magazines and have entirely unironic conversations about whether or not Camilla will ever be Queen.
We spent a glorious day with them today. It was an incredibly beautiful fall day, and had a wonderful time making lots of memories. There were both pony rides and gelato involved. Two years ago, a month or two after we had been evicted, we spent an equally glorious fall day with them, but I remember being in so much pain from our eviction and the fallout afterward, and deep in the mystery of what on earth we would do while we were homeless (we had all our stuff in storage waiting for God to do something, and God did, just not the something we thought God would do) and Gill said something along the lines of, "It hurts now, but one day you will realize it has gone, and that you have moved on, and it doesn't hurt so much any more." That was true today, and a blessing to reflect on.
While we were together today, I told my Uncle Paul about a conversation Sophia had recently had with her friend. Her friend was upset becasue Sophia had tried to change the direction of a game while they were playing, by introducing a whole new story line to the game about fairies. Her friend had protested and told Sophia that Christians could not believe in fairies because God didn't make fairies and they were not real. This grieved Sophia to the point of weeping, a long, sobbing weep and conversation with Wade and I that lasted for what felt like an hour.
It came out that she absolutely believes in fairies, and that she also absolutely believes in Jesus and being a follower of Jesus is very important to her and she could not reconcile the two. Now, her friends parents and we have talked. We have applied all the lessons about how we can be friends with people who do not believe the same things as we do, and how incredible Christian writers have conceived the greatest works of fantasy and magic, and Sophia and her friend are still dear friends because Sophia has a lovely elastic, generous forgiving heart.
The other thing you should know is that when Sophia was small I was VERY concerned about her knowing the truth, and that when she was 3 I told her that Santa Claus was a game we play and that the real meaning of Christmas was all about Jesus. And I did the same thing at Easter with the Easter Bunny. And you know what? She did not ignore me, or not listen, I just think she believes in magic too much to possibly take it in. She said, "Yes Mum, but do you know where Santa lives?" and so on. She taught me that it was very, very, very important to believe in fantasy and make-believe. and she has no memory of those early conversations and has invested in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and any other fairy, for that matter. She knows and senses truth but she holds just as holy any time she can sense grown-ups investing in a magical world and she RUNS with it and we have learned not to take it from her, but go with it, because we learn from her every time.
When I was telling my Uncle Paul all about the fairy conversation, little did I know what he had on his mind. He was almost sick, and needed to go for a walk and a smoke, and I reassured him she still believed in fairies but I had no idea the level of concern. When we got to his house, he kept hinting and hinting that he had discovered something special while he had been digging in the yard. Sophia and Eleanor and I went out to explore, and behind an incredible gnarly stump in the yard, surrounded by tiny iridescent stars, was a fairy house. A tiny red light glimmered and shone as the girls looked at it. There was a door, with the handle carved, with (what must have been) fairy runes on it. There was a little wooden table and chairs, all carved from stumps. There was a basket with the tiniest tomatoes in it, a holder with three wands in it, a message on a leaf wrapped up in a hole. There was a wooden fairy ring and a tiny, silver, blue bell shaped lantern. Sophia could not contain herself, physically or vocally. Eleanor ran in circles. Eleanor saw the red light again (it looked a lot like the red light that shines from the end of Uncle Paul's laser level, but she didn't know that) Sophia squealed with delight, "I can not believe I found evidence of fairies!" It was so real, and palpable, I thought that there was every single possibility that there really are fairies in the world and that I was ridiculous to think I could know there were not. And as the girls ran around the yard I could not contain my tears of wonder and joy. All that time. All that effort.
And Uncle Paul had no idea that this special magic faith of Soph's had been so threatened. He just loved that the girls like Auntie Gill's fairy statues, and that have spent time in his garden waiting for fairies and wanted to help them along in their sense of wonder and magic. He told me today that when he was a boy, his Mum read him Peter Pan, and that it is still his favourite, and that he still wants to fly. I so believe that the Father above, the giver of good gifts, the Mother heart, gave my crusty atheist Uncle a nudge to deliver the purest joy I have seen. I also believe that God gave me a similar nudge, to provide the back story today, to choose, of all the stories I could have told him about the girls, that particular one, so that Paul could know the depth of his gift & how much it mattered.
We were so happy we took no pictures. It was too special. We were all giddy with joy. Auntie Gill has promised to send one later, but she doesn't do the digital send. The girls named all the fairy statues, convinced now that Bagitte, and Joy, and Angela would come to life when it was dark, when we weren't looking. Before we left we had to sneak peeks out the darkened windows and turn on the porch lights to see if the statues moved. On the way home in the car, with the younger two asleep, I had no idea Sophia was still awake. I said to Wade, "I can't believe that fairy house." And a little voice piped up, "I was just thinking the same thing. At Easter time, instead of an easter egg hunt, I want to have a fairy hunt."
In a tiny house, by a tiny stream, lived a lovely lass, who had a lovely dream.
Friday, October 05, 2012
Sure was twitchy
Today Eleanor was telling us a story. She said, "They made the witch so angry that her eyebrows twitched." Her eyebrows twitched.
And Pax has taken using the word "sure". "Lowly Worm sure love apples." or "That sure a good banana." Tonight he pretended to be a waiter and went to each of us and said, "Hello sir" before asking us what we wanted. He wanted Wade's last piece of watermelon, and sauntered over to him and said, "So, Dad..." and then casually pointed at the watermelon. He likes to say about Wade, "I love Dad, he's my buddy."
And Pax has taken using the word "sure". "Lowly Worm sure love apples." or "That sure a good banana." Tonight he pretended to be a waiter and went to each of us and said, "Hello sir" before asking us what we wanted. He wanted Wade's last piece of watermelon, and sauntered over to him and said, "So, Dad..." and then casually pointed at the watermelon. He likes to say about Wade, "I love Dad, he's my buddy."
Welcome
This the Five Minute Friday theme from The Gypsy Mama Lisa-Jo Baker at www.lisajobaker.com. I love her. Thanks for the repeat encouragements to tell my story.
Welcome.
I work for a missions organization, and there are times when people come to work with us, that they have left everything familiar to them to come and join us. I still remember when my friends Mark and Karen left their home, uprooted their three kids, changed jobs and moved from another country to come and work with us, my dearest Angela met them at the door of our ministry centre and the first thing she said to them was, "Welcome Home". Mark never for got it either.
It has taken me a while to embrace our current house as home. This week we had our friends over. We always go to their house because is bigger, but this week, I knew it was really important to not just cook food for them and take it there, but that I needed to have them here, so it felt more like my home. We creatively shuffled all around and passed things in arms reach from the counter, and it was crowded and perfect. I need to be welcomed but I learned this week I need to welcome others too, that it is just as vital for me to say, come on in, this place is safe, this is warm, this is home.
Welcome.
I work for a missions organization, and there are times when people come to work with us, that they have left everything familiar to them to come and join us. I still remember when my friends Mark and Karen left their home, uprooted their three kids, changed jobs and moved from another country to come and work with us, my dearest Angela met them at the door of our ministry centre and the first thing she said to them was, "Welcome Home". Mark never for got it either.
It has taken me a while to embrace our current house as home. This week we had our friends over. We always go to their house because is bigger, but this week, I knew it was really important to not just cook food for them and take it there, but that I needed to have them here, so it felt more like my home. We creatively shuffled all around and passed things in arms reach from the counter, and it was crowded and perfect. I need to be welcomed but I learned this week I need to welcome others too, that it is just as vital for me to say, come on in, this place is safe, this is warm, this is home.
Home Keeps Moving
For Thurs Oct 4
Thursday I had an opportunity to meet some of the students for our new training school. I have the incredible privilege to meet with two of them once a week to help them process what they are thinking, feeling and learning for the school.
When I did my own missions training school I met my good friend Heidi. Heidi grew up between two different countries and had strong ties and allegiances to her parents home countries as well. For her, one of the hardest questions to be asked is "Where are you from?". It still is, though, the first thing I want to know, and one of the first things I ask. I think of Heidi every time I ask the question.
I had an opportunity to talk to a girl from Sweden the other day. She has been sick since she arrived in Canada, and she spoke of missing home. For her, home was the forest, the cold forest with open spaces. I thought again of my friend Heidi, who loves Scandinavia so much. I am praying for a Swedish angel for my new friend, one who has walked those forests and can keep her company in her new home.
Thursday I had an opportunity to meet some of the students for our new training school. I have the incredible privilege to meet with two of them once a week to help them process what they are thinking, feeling and learning for the school.
When I did my own missions training school I met my good friend Heidi. Heidi grew up between two different countries and had strong ties and allegiances to her parents home countries as well. For her, one of the hardest questions to be asked is "Where are you from?". It still is, though, the first thing I want to know, and one of the first things I ask. I think of Heidi every time I ask the question.
I had an opportunity to talk to a girl from Sweden the other day. She has been sick since she arrived in Canada, and she spoke of missing home. For her, home was the forest, the cold forest with open spaces. I thought again of my friend Heidi, who loves Scandinavia so much. I am praying for a Swedish angel for my new friend, one who has walked those forests and can keep her company in her new home.
Stuff
For Wed Oct 3
Wednesday we had an opportunity to go to a play performed by one of Wade's long time friends. Afterward we met her and her brother and we starting talking about the nomadic life they were living being on tour with their play, and how the relationship with your possessions change.
For me in the last year, this has been significant in my understanding of home. We had our household items in storage for 17 months and lived in 40 different house between our last permanent one and this one. The first lesson I learned was how little we really needed. Christmas without my favourite decorations was still Christmas, in fact the best we ever had.
When we returned to Vancouver after traveling for so long, we lived here for a while in someone else's home and when we would go to the storage locker our kids would run into the locker and physically hug things that were familiar to them. Stuff did matter. I loaned some of my household items to a friend and when I saw them in her home first after not seeing them in my own home after a year, the sight of a coffee mug gave a me a response so strong I could feel it physically.
After storing things for a year, we got rid of HUGE amount of stuff, things we paid hundreds of dollars to store we just gave away because we realized we had lived without them for so long. But other things had become more precious to us, when we did unpack our Christmas ornaments last year we were so happy to see them.
Interestingly enough, when we do finally move overseas, I think I will now ship more things than I originally thought I would, but perhaps different things than I first imagined. Our art, photos, favourite blankets, sentimental objects and anything the children held precious. I will never talk them out of anything again. Pax still has trauma - today Eleanor wanted to take a gift to some freinds she was meeting for playdate and Paxy kept saying, "Don't give away my toys, don't send my toys away..."
Don't worry Pax, you can hang on to what you need. I will too.
Wednesday we had an opportunity to go to a play performed by one of Wade's long time friends. Afterward we met her and her brother and we starting talking about the nomadic life they were living being on tour with their play, and how the relationship with your possessions change.
For me in the last year, this has been significant in my understanding of home. We had our household items in storage for 17 months and lived in 40 different house between our last permanent one and this one. The first lesson I learned was how little we really needed. Christmas without my favourite decorations was still Christmas, in fact the best we ever had.
When we returned to Vancouver after traveling for so long, we lived here for a while in someone else's home and when we would go to the storage locker our kids would run into the locker and physically hug things that were familiar to them. Stuff did matter. I loaned some of my household items to a friend and when I saw them in her home first after not seeing them in my own home after a year, the sight of a coffee mug gave a me a response so strong I could feel it physically.
After storing things for a year, we got rid of HUGE amount of stuff, things we paid hundreds of dollars to store we just gave away because we realized we had lived without them for so long. But other things had become more precious to us, when we did unpack our Christmas ornaments last year we were so happy to see them.
Interestingly enough, when we do finally move overseas, I think I will now ship more things than I originally thought I would, but perhaps different things than I first imagined. Our art, photos, favourite blankets, sentimental objects and anything the children held precious. I will never talk them out of anything again. Pax still has trauma - today Eleanor wanted to take a gift to some freinds she was meeting for playdate and Paxy kept saying, "Don't give away my toys, don't send my toys away..."
Don't worry Pax, you can hang on to what you need. I will too.
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Fancy hotels, and flowers, and arts and crafts, and cowboys.
Yikes! I can't fall of the bandwagon yet, it's only day 2. I had an exciting night. I was sorting the sock box, (We have so many odd socks, I stick them in a box. Then once a month, I sort them. I know. Good times.) when I saw a message from my friend Shannon saying she had extra tickets to see Glen Hansard. Yep, Irish, charming - the guy who won an Oscar with a hole in his guitar Glen Hansard.
And I got to go. And it was magic, inspiring, brilliant, soul-filling. So I am home after midnight, so technically this will say I posted it on Oct 3, but since I haven't been to bed yet, it's today.
I wanted to post two quotes that really, I should have just walked over to the computer and opened up this here blog and busted them out when they happened, but... I was out of practice. So I put them here. Because it is after midnight and I need to still check my lesson plans for tomorrow.
In March, I was just singing Sophia to sleep and she kept smiling. When her eyes flickered open, I said, "What are you thinking about?" She answered, "Fancy hotels, and flowers, and arts and crafts, and cowboys." This is the wonder of getting to be with Sophia Joanna Jubilee. I wrote a poem about it later.
And an Eleanor quote. She told me she wanted me to keep her company while she was in the bathroom and then said, "Company is an important thing in life. Love, life, company, food.. Oh! and house. Maybe house is the most important. And air. Air is important too. How many things is that?"
So, I would say that qualifies as a post on home, as Eleanor says, "house is important too."
And I got to go. And it was magic, inspiring, brilliant, soul-filling. So I am home after midnight, so technically this will say I posted it on Oct 3, but since I haven't been to bed yet, it's today.
I wanted to post two quotes that really, I should have just walked over to the computer and opened up this here blog and busted them out when they happened, but... I was out of practice. So I put them here. Because it is after midnight and I need to still check my lesson plans for tomorrow.
In March, I was just singing Sophia to sleep and she kept smiling. When her eyes flickered open, I said, "What are you thinking about?" She answered, "Fancy hotels, and flowers, and arts and crafts, and cowboys." This is the wonder of getting to be with Sophia Joanna Jubilee. I wrote a poem about it later.
And an Eleanor quote. She told me she wanted me to keep her company while she was in the bathroom and then said, "Company is an important thing in life. Love, life, company, food.. Oh! and house. Maybe house is the most important. And air. Air is important too. How many things is that?"
So, I would say that qualifies as a post on home, as Eleanor says, "house is important too."
Monday, October 01, 2012
31 Days Of The Story Of Home
It has been over a year since I last posted here. I spent hours the other night looking at blog posts and old facebook pictures and videos from 3 years or more ago, and I felt as if I had visited myself in time. I saw a video of Pax, at 2 days old, with his eyes open for the first time during his sister's waking hours, coming in my arms to visit them in the bath. It was so vivid to me that I looked at him multiple times the next day as if to make sure he was really there, this 3 year old boy who has recently determined there will be no more diapers.
I felt as if the Sophia and Eleanor in the videos, at ages 4 & 5, at 2 & 3, were more solidified in my memory somehow than these actual girls here in front of me... and I realized I have missed out on so much by being too busy to blog, to select a perfect picture or moment to capture in more posterity here. Not for anyone else than me. It stopped being popular, it stopped being a priority, heck, I had THREE KIDS. But the other night as I read old posts, I felt as if I visited our old home, our old season and it was good. It was very good.
The last 2 years of our life have been very transitional, after 11 previous years on the same street corner. 7 years on one side, 4 years on the other and then the most painful eviction and being tossed from the nest, all for very good reasons (in hindsight), but boy, has ever it been a journey and we are still on it. I have wrestled, ignored, held close, thrown away, and re-visited so many times the idea of home. The last two days, after the virtual visit to the past, was the frst time, I have lit candles and made a pot of tea for Wade and in in our new home and we have lived here for 10 months. It is time.
I have been sustained in recent months, by the wisdom and encouragement of Lisa-Jo Baker who is the only blogger I read regularly any more because I simply out of practice, and I have her posts delivered to our incredibly overwhelming email inbox. Lisa-Jo has encouraged me to write. And of course, Wade has encouraged me to do so all along, but today Lisa-Jo published an invitation to a blogging event called 31 days. 31 days is the creation of The Nester, and she plans to write about Home. Which was, no kidding, my idea too. But then Lisa -Jo is going to write about being a writer even when you think you're not, and I think that might be for me too. So I'm combining both, and I'm going to tell my story of wanting to tell stories, and the search for home. I'm setting out on 31 days of the Story of Home.
Want to join me? You can link up at www.thenester.com if you do. I would really love it if some of my friends came along for the ride. So this totally counts as #1, right?
Friday, July 29, 2011
Still
This is the 5 minute Friday challenge from Gypsy Mama. 5 minutes if unedited writing on the topic, "Still".
I have been reflecting lately on the speed of my life. I have been reading a book called "in Praise Of Slow", despite my desire to speed read it, at the suggestion of one reviewer I have read it one chapter a day. It talks about the general speed of life, and how we are wired for speed in this age.
I find myself saying to children often, "hurry up!" Last night I read one chapter about how Germans have a name for how each person has their own time "ein giest" literally "own time". Sophia is our kid who especially takes her time to do just about everything and it regularly drives Wade and I a little crazy. But last night I considered perhaps she just has a differemt natural rhythm than we do.
I also thought about how I used to have a slower rhythm when I was a kid, and how adulthood take it out of you. I tried this morning to just be still. The children were playing in the garden. I sat on the deck. I had coffee. Then I began to play with my phone. I stopped. I noticed how all of them were on the rocker swing, just swinging lazily. It was then I realized that only a fool would sit up on a deck watching all that beauty go by without her, and I joined them on the swing.
But they are not still. They jumped up, began to perform a show, then ask for things, and meals, and attention and wisdom and clean clothes and many, many other things. So how can provide for them what they desire and require, and yet stay still, stay slow?
(This is the tension of today, which I am trying to live without feeling tension. I am trying to feel the peace of being still and KNOWING He is God, which is connected to lack of worry, and gratefulness and contentment.)
Words in brackets typed after 5 minute timer rang.
craps
I have been reflecting lately on the speed of my life. I have been reading a book called "in Praise Of Slow", despite my desire to speed read it, at the suggestion of one reviewer I have read it one chapter a day. It talks about the general speed of life, and how we are wired for speed in this age.
I find myself saying to children often, "hurry up!" Last night I read one chapter about how Germans have a name for how each person has their own time "ein giest" literally "own time". Sophia is our kid who especially takes her time to do just about everything and it regularly drives Wade and I a little crazy. But last night I considered perhaps she just has a differemt natural rhythm than we do.
I also thought about how I used to have a slower rhythm when I was a kid, and how adulthood take it out of you. I tried this morning to just be still. The children were playing in the garden. I sat on the deck. I had coffee. Then I began to play with my phone. I stopped. I noticed how all of them were on the rocker swing, just swinging lazily. It was then I realized that only a fool would sit up on a deck watching all that beauty go by without her, and I joined them on the swing.
But they are not still. They jumped up, began to perform a show, then ask for things, and meals, and attention and wisdom and clean clothes and many, many other things. So how can provide for them what they desire and require, and yet stay still, stay slow?
(This is the tension of today, which I am trying to live without feeling tension. I am trying to feel the peace of being still and KNOWING He is God, which is connected to lack of worry, and gratefulness and contentment.)
Words in brackets typed after 5 minute timer rang.
craps
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Hundreds of Houses
It's been 9 weeks since we left California, and I didn't realize that all this time of traveling would feel like one, big long transition. We have a house waiting for us in Vancouver August 10, but we have three more places to stay (including this one) before we get there. We have visited and visited and visited people, too many in fact - not one person I would have wanted to leave out, just - we've done too much.
We arrived at this quiet house by a tiny lake on Vancouver Island a couple of days ago and we have been trying to rest and for the most part we have done well. The weather since we have arrived back in Canada has been mostly cold and grey, which, considering it is "summer" has been a struggle, but I am choosing to put my faith in August and September, who always come through for me on this grey wet coast, but damn, it has been hard to leave the sun. It makes me want to put my head through a window some days.
I have also been doing a dance with reflection. When I have a quiet moment alone I seem to have a habit of usually evaluating the past or planning for the future. I struggle often with simply resting in the "now", and usually have a degree of guilt at the lack of silent, focused time with God. Yet I have been challenged in that this week by a meditation I read in the Mosaic bible, a gift from our friends Jamie and Kim. I am trying this week in my quiet moments to resist any feeling of guilt that I should be writing in my journal profound thoughts of reflection, or seeking a new word from God. I am very much enjoying reading a great book called "French Women Don't Get Fat." and spending time with just us.
I have been trying to figure out what I want to do in the few quiet moments to myself (vacation with 3 small kids is still life with 3 small kids) and trying to listen to my body and spirit. I been fighting the temptation to be discouraged at how our busy schedule and the terrible weather have limited me in the amount I have been running. I'm believing that running and fitness is something I now own, and it is not so elusive that it will escape again. Pax and I did run and walk (well, he sat in the stroller:) 5K around the lake yesterday, and it felt great, and it also felt OK that I didn't want to go today and the sun came out for a while, and it really helped.
I also haven't needed to sit and write in my journal because coming back to Canada and visiting with so many people has caused us to tell our story over and over again. Yet with a few wonderful exceptions of people who want to know every detail, I find that there is a need in me to make our story short and sweet and in a neat bundle that simply says "We're okay - see how good we are? Look how great we are!" Which is not untrue. We are, in fact, pretty good. But I felt better in California. We were settled there and the sun shone nearly every day, and we were really, really in love with our friends there. Coming back to Canada is hard work. And I don't want to say that to anyone in person because I love them, and I want them to be happy and not cause anyone any pain. The truth is we are doing the very best we can, but we're just guessing as to how to do life as much as the next family.
I recently had a visit with a friend who grew up in YWAM who said she had a list in her head of "The Things I Promised Myself I Would Never Do To My Kids." I asked her what was on the list and then Pax fell and broke his arm. So, needless to say, I never heard the list. Wade says not to ask again, that it would not be helpful to know, and that we are Sophia and Eleanor and Pax's parents, that we ultimately do know what's best for them, and the best we can do for them is to obey God as best we understand. Yet I wonder how they will reflect on their lives when they're older and in my worst moments I think "How can we know?" What random moment of the day could be defining for them, will shape them for better or worse, or just flutter in to oblivion. That would be the case no matter what our lifestyle I suppose, yet this life of late brings all too much reflection at times, I fear.
Sophia said today that if she wrote a book like our friend Heidi, she wouldn't call it "Home Keeps Moving" she would call her book, "Hundreds of Houses." We moved into this house this week and it is huge and beautiful. Sophia came to me and said, "I love this house. When I am here, I feel like I have a regular life." And I breathed a small sigh of relief. Within an hour Eleanor came to me and said, "This house is way to big for our small family." So... really it's such a crap shoot. I have no idea what's going to work and what's not. All I know is that tonight at dinner our small family sat in this big house and laughed over stupid jokes we made up about tree houses and having rapper names (2Kron) and pretending to have the super power to roast marshmallows with our eyes. Even Pax tried it, he was hilarious. It is a good life with this small family in this big house by this small lake. Selah.
We arrived at this quiet house by a tiny lake on Vancouver Island a couple of days ago and we have been trying to rest and for the most part we have done well. The weather since we have arrived back in Canada has been mostly cold and grey, which, considering it is "summer" has been a struggle, but I am choosing to put my faith in August and September, who always come through for me on this grey wet coast, but damn, it has been hard to leave the sun. It makes me want to put my head through a window some days.
I have also been doing a dance with reflection. When I have a quiet moment alone I seem to have a habit of usually evaluating the past or planning for the future. I struggle often with simply resting in the "now", and usually have a degree of guilt at the lack of silent, focused time with God. Yet I have been challenged in that this week by a meditation I read in the Mosaic bible, a gift from our friends Jamie and Kim. I am trying this week in my quiet moments to resist any feeling of guilt that I should be writing in my journal profound thoughts of reflection, or seeking a new word from God. I am very much enjoying reading a great book called "French Women Don't Get Fat." and spending time with just us.
I have been trying to figure out what I want to do in the few quiet moments to myself (vacation with 3 small kids is still life with 3 small kids) and trying to listen to my body and spirit. I been fighting the temptation to be discouraged at how our busy schedule and the terrible weather have limited me in the amount I have been running. I'm believing that running and fitness is something I now own, and it is not so elusive that it will escape again. Pax and I did run and walk (well, he sat in the stroller:) 5K around the lake yesterday, and it felt great, and it also felt OK that I didn't want to go today and the sun came out for a while, and it really helped.
I also haven't needed to sit and write in my journal because coming back to Canada and visiting with so many people has caused us to tell our story over and over again. Yet with a few wonderful exceptions of people who want to know every detail, I find that there is a need in me to make our story short and sweet and in a neat bundle that simply says "We're okay - see how good we are? Look how great we are!" Which is not untrue. We are, in fact, pretty good. But I felt better in California. We were settled there and the sun shone nearly every day, and we were really, really in love with our friends there. Coming back to Canada is hard work. And I don't want to say that to anyone in person because I love them, and I want them to be happy and not cause anyone any pain. The truth is we are doing the very best we can, but we're just guessing as to how to do life as much as the next family.
I recently had a visit with a friend who grew up in YWAM who said she had a list in her head of "The Things I Promised Myself I Would Never Do To My Kids." I asked her what was on the list and then Pax fell and broke his arm. So, needless to say, I never heard the list. Wade says not to ask again, that it would not be helpful to know, and that we are Sophia and Eleanor and Pax's parents, that we ultimately do know what's best for them, and the best we can do for them is to obey God as best we understand. Yet I wonder how they will reflect on their lives when they're older and in my worst moments I think "How can we know?" What random moment of the day could be defining for them, will shape them for better or worse, or just flutter in to oblivion. That would be the case no matter what our lifestyle I suppose, yet this life of late brings all too much reflection at times, I fear.
Sophia said today that if she wrote a book like our friend Heidi, she wouldn't call it "Home Keeps Moving" she would call her book, "Hundreds of Houses." We moved into this house this week and it is huge and beautiful. Sophia came to me and said, "I love this house. When I am here, I feel like I have a regular life." And I breathed a small sigh of relief. Within an hour Eleanor came to me and said, "This house is way to big for our small family." So... really it's such a crap shoot. I have no idea what's going to work and what's not. All I know is that tonight at dinner our small family sat in this big house and laughed over stupid jokes we made up about tree houses and having rapper names (2Kron) and pretending to have the super power to roast marshmallows with our eyes. Even Pax tried it, he was hilarious. It is a good life with this small family in this big house by this small lake. Selah.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Home
I have thought and thought and thought about writing on this blog. I love this blog. Somehow it became a giant task. I wish for it to return to it being a joyous chronicle of my life as a Mum. The computer, email, blogging, anything but a facebook lurk has seemed overwhelming in the past year. But the spell has been broken.
This is the first time I am taking a challenge put down by The Gypsy Mama to write for 5 minutes straight without stopping on a topic. The topic is: Home.
Here goes:
Home is funny thing these days. My friend Heidi wrote a book last year about her life growing up between 3 cultures called ”Home Keeps Moving” and this year I know what she means. Almost a year ago now, July 1, 2010, our family was evicted by our landlord of 11 years. We had 2 months to move out, and what came next was a big surprise. A massive, gut wrenching feeling, KNOWING in the spirit that we were not get another home in the city. It was palpable. it was nauseating, and it was just there. Obey that knowing, or be disobeying God, and in that case, why don’t I just put my three small kids out in the traffic? Follow God’s leading as best we knew how, or... what? Or nothing.
So we put everything in storage and we just waited... we healed and rested and worked a little and waited in other people’s homes, empty vacation homes - and after 2 months we had friends who invited us to come and work and wait down in Southern California. So we went for a planned 3 weeks and stayed 7 months. And we just came back to Canada last week. And it feels a little like home, but Cali felt like home too. And Vancouver, which was home, doesn't feel like home waiting for us any more, just friends there feel like pieces of home waiting for us.
We have moved about 30 times in the last 9 months. Our children are 6, 4 years and 22 months old. I know I am a home maker and yet I have been without a home of my own for nearly a year now... and I have learned how to make home with no house. I have learned people are more generous than they can ever imagine. I have learned that we, as a family are home for each other like nothing else can ever be. And I have learned that when I feel all torn in pieces because I feel like a bit of me is in one place and a bit of me is in another, that when I return to those places and people that each and every one can feel a bit like home, and that the possibility of a piece of new home is just around the bend too.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Pax Henry Hawk Pallister
I guess cliches are cliches are cliches because the are true, otherwise people wouldn't keep saying them over and over again. My poor third child, my only son, beloved Pax.
You have a first child, she gets her own blog. You have a second child, you change the name of the blog to include her too. You have a third child - under the age of 5 and the third gets a mid-post mention and when he's 10 months old you suddenly realize he has never had a post dedicated entirely to himself. Poor guy. (Then, on the eve of his first birthday, you realize that the blog post you started 2 months ago about him is still unfinished. Yikes.)
Pax. Paxy Paxy Puchu. The wacky peanut. The Dude. The buddy. Paxeroni and Cheese. Six Pax. Pax Man. The Peace Hawk.
When I think about Pax I get all dreamy. He is a dreamy dreamy dream boat of a baby. Ask anyone that knows him, he makes people swoon. Happy happy happy.
Let me start at the beginning. In October 2008 Wade and I went on a cruise. Now, we had really high hopes for this cruise, but unfortunately, I didn't realize exactly how badly my motion sickness had increased since having kids and I was sick as a dog almost all the time, it was truly truly awful. BUT it was fantastic to have some time alone with Wade and it was also the first time I'd had a quiet time in months and months. In fact I felt like God was chasing me down about this quiet time. When I finally listened to that nagging feeling to sit down with my journal and bible, I don't remember why I opened my bible to the Gospel of Luke, but what caught my attention was the story of John the Baptist's birth.
In the story, John's father Zechariah doesn't believe that he and his wife's advanced ages they'll be given a son, and he is struck dumb for his unbelief by the angel Gabriel. After his son is born, (Chapter 1 in verses 57-66) the family assumes he'll be named after Zechariah, but Z manages to communicate as he was divinely instructed that the baby's name is John.
And I felt in my spirit it was a story for us, about having a son. I don't know why, I just kind of knew. I also had a boy's name for years - Reading Asher Seven. And after this reading, I also knew that whoever the baby was that was coming, he wasn't Reading Asher Seven. He was somebody else. When I shared all this with Wade, he took it with his usual grain of salt, not-condescending-but-we'll-just-wait-and-see evenness that he always has - which is a lovely comforting thing now that my ego knows it for what it is, which is love.
Then in December we found out we were pregnant, and the day we found out, I went to to my journal to write it down and the last entry was the one had written on the cruise. (My focused quiet times with journal writing are not so frequent these days:) And as I re-read it, I had some goose bumps, because as I was reading it, Wade was sitting across the room from me preparing his sermon. Our church was going systematically through the gospel of Luke, and guess which verses Wade was preparing to teach on in church the very next day? Oh yes, yes it was. Luke 1: 57-66, the story of Zechariah regaining his voice and naming his son.
So, I thought we were going to have a son, and that his name would be different from the name we'd always had for a son. I wanted a name that meant "Peace" and presented Wade with a list, he immediately picked out Pax. Just like that. We liked that it sounded like a super hero's pseudonym, like Peter Parker. Pax Pallister, boy wonder. Henry is after Wade's Dad Hank and Hawk is after Wade's boyhood hero, Tony Hawk.
His birth was amazing, despite many last-minute concerns about my blood pressure and a possible induction, he wound up being born at home, in a lovely peaceful way. We're convinced that everybody is here now and that he's our last baby, and to be honest, I won't miss being pregnant, but I would love to be in labour and give birth one more time. It is just the most awesome thing I've ever done and it got easier each time for me. Pax was born in the caul, which means his water, or amniotic sac didn't break. the midwife had never seen anything like it, he came out in a little bubble, like a spaceman. She just kept saying, "Oh lucky baby! Lucky lucky baby!" It was great.
And tomorrow he is one year old. Every year seems to go by more and more quickly, this one was speedier than the rest. I am still in awe of Pax. I still am in awe that I have a son, and that he is so good-natured and funny and that he just adores us all so much. He laughs so hard at Sophia and Eleanor, no matter how many times a day they maul him.
I can't wait to see more of who he'll be. Happy Birthday son, I love you!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
a conversation
Lately we have been having some issues with spitting. The raspberry, the zrrbt, if you will, out of control. Tonight at dinner Sophia and Eleanor and I were talking about spitting, and I offered the information that in Singapore spitting was against the law. then I told them that chewing bubblegum was against the law.
Shock. Horror. They rarely get bubble gum and it is such a dear treat (Sophia recently triumphantly managed her first bubblegum bubble.)
I thing that with the gum chewing and welding sheep and leg gluing, we'd be a hit in Singapore.
Shock. Horror. They rarely get bubble gum and it is such a dear treat (Sophia recently triumphantly managed her first bubblegum bubble.)
Me: Really, in Singapore, if you chew gum, the police might come and put you in jail.
Eleanor: And then, if a policeman got me, you would come and take me away from him and then he would cry and cry.
Sophia: And, if you were in jail, you would need some sheep friends, and they would need to know how to weld! (I begin to laugh) A Close Shave! (referencing the jail break scene from the Wallace and Gromit film of that name.)
Eleanor: And then, you would take me away from the policeman and my leg would break and then you would have to glue my leg and put a band-aid on it and the policeman would cry and cry.
I thing that with the gum chewing and welding sheep and leg gluing, we'd be a hit in Singapore.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
a year ago....
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day Wade cut off his dreads. He had been growing them for 7 years. He did it to raise money for our dear friend Sandra, creator of the dreads, godmother, doula, photographer, family to us. Sandra had been diagnosed with breast cancer and was both unable to lift her camera (and hence work) and her arms to do dreadlock maintenance.
We had a birthday party and a fundraiser for Sandra to help her cover her living expenses during treatment. We had hoped to raise a thousand dollars. The dreadlock auction alone raised $2845.00
Sophia refused to get rid of the dreadlocks. They are still in a plastic bag in her closet. I can't look at them, it grosses me out entirely.
My brother Matthew mc'ed the auction and did an incredible job. We were utterly, completely, entirely amazed at the response. Sandra is such an incredible person and her generosity and the good that it unleashed was overwhelming. All tolled, the fund raising came to just over $13,000.00. The story of Wade cutting his dreads for Sandra made the local news. We thought it was just a party and a haircut. By the grace and joy of God, it turned out to be much, much more.
This, friends, is what Oprah likes to call "the ugly cry".
Today, December 8th, is Sandra's birthday. I'm overflowing with gratitude (and tears) to be able to write these words: Today she is cancer-free. Happy Birthday sister-friend. I love you so.
Wade is more handsome than ever. He says except for his short time in Thailand this past summer he's been cold ever since. Good thing Sandra bought him a nice warm, scarf.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
I CAN!
Today while getting Eleanor dressed she pulled out a whole stack of shirts. I said, "Eleanor, you only need one shirt."
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
M: "You can't wear five shirts Eleanor, how about two?"
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
Mum helps Eleanor tastefully layer 2 shirts.
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
M: "You can't wear five shirts Eleanor."
E: "I CAN!"
M: "You can't"
E: "I CAN!"
I then choose to walk away.
I was wrong actually, she can. Here she is wearing 7 shirts simultaneously...
...while triumphantly eating Hawkin's Cheezies.
She gets an idea in her head, and she sticks to it. Right now, it often vexes me, but I gotta say I really like that in a girl.
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
M: "You can't wear five shirts Eleanor, how about two?"
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
Mum helps Eleanor tastefully layer 2 shirts.
E: "No, Mum, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5!"
M: "You can't wear five shirts Eleanor."
E: "I CAN!"
M: "You can't"
E: "I CAN!"
I then choose to walk away.
I was wrong actually, she can. Here she is wearing 7 shirts simultaneously...
...while triumphantly eating Hawkin's Cheezies.She gets an idea in her head, and she sticks to it. Right now, it often vexes me, but I gotta say I really like that in a girl.
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