pic from here

So.   If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I would love to renovate my house.   I would love to hire professionals to come in and fix my floors, windows and driveway.   It would be lovely to have that all done.

I would love it if my living room looked the the picture I just posted above.

But.

It's not going to happen because we don't have disposable income to afford that and any savings I can put together need to go towards a new furnace, dentist appointments, eye glasses and truck repairs.

My world does not allow for total house make-overs.

And I wish it did.

So, I choose to be happy with what I have because if I let the dis-contentment I have bubble to the surface, I would be miserable.  I acknowledge I have dis-contentment but I refuse to let it run my life.

The truths that I tell myself are this:   my house is larger than what most people on the planet have to live in,  I am lucky to have such a big yard (albeit a weird shape), it is miraculous that we get own this house considering we went bankrupt, I love the quirks of this house like the panelled ceiling in the dining room and the steps down to the living room, and it does not matter if I paint my kitchen cupboards on a whim because they are not multiple thousands of dollars hanging on my wall.

Usually that is all it takes to snap back to what I actually know is good.   It stops the lie "You must have bigger, fancier, expensive." to be content.

At the end of the day, it is a lie from the pits of hell, that says what I have is not enough.   Because my Jesus promised to take care of my needs and that my joy would be found in him.

My husband loves me.

My kids are healthy.

I have amazing friends.

My bills are paid.

There is food in my cupboards.

There is gas in my truck's tank.

What more could I want.

Life is good.

One of my favourite things to do with Naveed, when she was 4, was to give her my camera and see what kind of pictures she would take.   I always found it so interesting to see what she would come up with.   Sadly, as of late, creativity has not been high on my list of things that are worth guarding and encouraging.  In my life or my kids.   A few weeks ago I decided it was time to change that.   So Rohk got the iPad and Nav got my phone.   Rohk's pictures ended up being videos of trucks driving and he lost interest after a little while so I did not have a lot of options with his first attempt.    

These pictures are my favourite's from Naveed..  

When Resiliency is Gone

I used to be resilient.

Resilience is defined by some random internet site as this:

: the ability to become strong, healthy, or successful again after something bad happens

: the ability of something to return to its original shape after it has been pulled, stretched, pressed, bent, etc.

Six, maybe seven months ago, if you were a friend of mine, you might have used that word to describe me.

I have overcome a lot in this little life of mine.

And now, I am admitting defeat.

It is time to say no to almost every single commitment.

It is time to sit and be quiet and contemplate and stop moving all the time.

Sitting still is going to heal my heart.

Because, in the silence, I am ever so hopeful that I will meet the person I have become.

That Christ will remind me who I am in his eyes.

Because, as it stands, I don't think I have ever been so ill at ease with myself.

I have changed this year and I do not know her.

I am angry these days.  Did you see my last post?!   Whoa.

I am sad these days.

My soul is tired.

Life has been disappointing.

My faith is a tattered garment.

Conversely,  there things about myself that I fully know and accept as true and good.

I love Dr. Who.

I love short hair.

I love bright tattoos.

I love my kids.

I love my husband.

I want to cook more.

I want to cook more with my kids.

I want to make more meals that Jon loves.

I want to treat my friends to a coffee, just because I can.

I am friendly.

I love to laugh.

I have missed laughter.

My home is an extension of me.

I am a crier.

I love this space where I can put my thoughts.   

   

I am currently in a really great state of mind.

“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers with originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring two pence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”

Telling the truth—about our feelings, about our lives, about our triumphs and tragedies, about our singular view of the world—allows us the ability to truly be unique. Because no one has lived your life but you. There is no story that is exactly the same as your own. In other words, Lewis is implying that for artists of faith, the opposite of plagiarism isn’t originality. The opposite of plagiarism is truth.

see article here

The End

  

That picture was from Rohk's birthday.   We had fun that night.

I like starting entries with pictures.  I just do.  

Now, onto thoughts totally unrelated to this picture.

I ponder to much.  I get stuck in my head.  In college the school therapist told me that I didn't need counselling, I just needed to talk out the thoughts in my head.

So, I have gotten better at talking about the swirling mass of things I think about.  If I don't, they build up and I explode or I get really depressed.   

Recently I was quoted a Proverb that says it is better to be quiet than talk a lot so that you don't appear a fool.  ( see here )

It's true.  I probably speak to freely what I am thinking.  And I have had to deal with the fallout of a wild tongue.

But.

I would rather appear a fool and be apologizing for stupid things I say or words that have not been stupid but have caused un-intentional hurt than be quiet in the corner for the sake of appearances.  

   Because what other's might perceive as me being loud and foolish is actually me 

being my authentic self.  

I do bite my tongue.  A lot.  You have no idea.

But for those that keep so much of themselves hidden, they might think that I have no restraint. 

If you have known me for any amount of time, you have noticed a shift in who I am.  And you know that I do not speak as freely as I once did.  I don't pick battles as often as I used to.

So it is interesting to me when I am all of a sudden put in proximity to very "religious" people that equate keeping their lives hidden with being holy.

I don't buy it.

So, when I was told that singing was for boys, I kept my mouth shut.  (ARE YOU SERIOUS!!??   REALLY!!??  Think about that person.  Think really really hard.)

When, in all seriousness, I was informed that math is for boys and art is for girls, frankly I was gobsmacked into silence.  Now I would challenge that one straight up.

Some people in my life think I agree with their life choices because of my silence, and they are wrong.  What does me saying anything do?  It harms our relationship and nothing I say or do will change what they are doing.  So, I keep quiet. 

Thank you for walking me through what I think about Proverbs 17: 27-28.

Apparently I needed to sort out some swirling thoughts. 

I have these friendship that have been forged in fire.

We have been through years of trials, crisis and hardship.

Our lives were in turmoil and our friendships emerged from the flames, stronger and formed into something all together different then when we first entered the fire.

And these women are good.  

They embody friendship to me and my life would be less if they were to ever go away.

I find myself in a strange season of life these days.  So much of who I was before the bankruptcy has been stripped away and I have been floundering a bit with my identity.

It is easy to remember who I once was, but who am I now?

And this is where these women are oh so important.  Because they reflect back who I am and are walking with me to the new person I am becoming.

They     know     me.

They     see     who     I     am     becoming.

And they do not want me to be someone I am not.

They trust God is working in my life and heart and I am in his hands.

I  am thankful.      

I miss my grandma.

I hear her singing harmonies when I sing hymns at church.

I can hear her laughing when I think to remember it.

There were a few times I made her cry because of my fiesty-ness and my inability to bow to her demands.

She made me cry a few times because of her guilt trips and bluntness.

Nobody makes fried potatoes like she did and we are all missing a good thing because of her absence.

There was that one time I told her I wanted a purple room and I came home after school and she had painted my room a pale lavender.  I had really wanted a dark purple but I was informed her choice was a better one.

One summer, in between my first and second year of college, I lived with my grandparents.  I cherish that summer.  It afforded me an understanding of my grandma and my heritage that I treasure to this day.

My mom brought me over a picture of the time I had my wedding dress fitting and my grandma was there.  I had forgotten that.

When my dad owned a furniture store in Marathon ON, my grandma put on skits with me and my sister.   Shadow plays where she pulled out random objects from our stomachs.  Oh we laughed!!  

I really miss my grandma.

I really wish she could be here these days.

More than anything I want to go out for lunch with her and catch up.  I always knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was my cheerleader in this life.  She loved me.  I always knew when she was proud of me.

And when she wasn't!!

She was sick for a long time and deteriorated into someone unrecognisable from her healthy self.  

Those days leave an impression.  She was there and gone at the same time.

The last time I saw my grandma she was asleep in bed, in the hospital, with her mouth gaping open, lightly snoring.  Nav was 6 weeks old with problems so and I had limited time to see my grandma before it was time to get back.

I still remember what I was wearing.  I wanted to look nice for her. I went in my office work clothes.

I was sad she was sleeping but there was no way I was going to wake her.  So I sat in the corner for a while, watching her sleep, sad that we could not talk.

And then I left.

I found out she had died while I was at a cabin Jon was working on.  We were all camping out there, trying to figure out our new family dynamic.  I don't remember who called me but I remember not being able to stop crying.  Gasping, really.

I wonder why I miss her so much these days, and I don't have a real answer for myself.

In part, I really want to know how proud she is of me.  I want her approval for the service I co-lead at church, I want her to take my kids berry picking, I so badly want to go to the Olive Garden with her.  Or some other random restaurant.  I loved going out with her.



When I left the hospital, I touched her foot and said "Goodbye, I love you grandma."  I just remembered that.

For years I have been saddened because I never said goodbye.

I am glad I pushed into these memories or I would not have remembered that!

Some days, homeschooling is the best.

Things are taught, my child picks up what she needs to know and life is good.

Other days, it's horrible.   I am impatient, she refuses to even consider what 13-1 is and it all sucks.

On the good days I LOVE homeschooling.

On the bad days I HATE every thing about it.

On the bad days I consider what it would be like to send her to public school.  It sounds soo much easier than I have to do.

But it's all a lie, both are hard and both are good.

Just on different levels.

Public school, I would not have to think about what we were going to learn for the day.  It would be taken care of and it would be someone else's problem.  Until she got home with homework....

Homeschool, I get to customize my curriculum to my child's individual needs.

Public school, she would be in an environment where adult input is minimal and I don't feel that it is age appropriate.

Homeschool, I risk our relationship at the cost of her education.  To much adult time.

And I go back and forth in my mind.  Over and over again.

Surrender seems to be coming up a lot for me these days.

And so, in this quiet blog space, once again, I surrender our days into the care of Jesus.  Asking that he lead and guide me as a mother, to do his will in the lives of my children.  All the while, trying to remember that they are not mine.  They are His and he has wonderful plans in store for them.

That I would be a help, not a hinder to them.

Lord have mercy on this conflicted mother's heart.

It's been 6 months since I began leading music at church.

And I still hold to the belief that a song is only worth singing if EVERYONE is singing.  

Well, the majority anyway.

We lead music as an expression of... (fill in the blank)  to our God and unless the congregation is joining in, it's a show.

Personally, I don't go to church Sunday morning for a show.  I go to participate in a worship service.  I like being an active participant.

I am thinking of this because I am currently trying to choose songs for an upcoming service and my very favourite thing is when we are singing and worshipping together.  Nothing in all the world beats a room full of people all singing in unison.  I love it.  And I think my saviour does as well.

But it's hard.  Because we all come from different back-grounds and I song I know like the back of my hand from 1993 might be brand spanking new to someone else.

And so, I gingerly and prayerfully consider the songs to be sung.

Doing my best to ensure they are singable, known and lovely.