Heard At my House - The Seven Year Old Theologian Edition

Setting: My two sons, chatting happily much too early in the morning for my liking. I come in and tell them to be quiet, once. Brief silence. Then, they begin the chatting again. I come in a second time:

Me: Boys, it is not morning yet. You are up FAR too early. Everyone else is trying to sleep still. It is time to be quiet now with no.more.talking, do you understand?

3 year old Z: Yes, Momma (in a whisper)

7 year old C: Mom?

Me: *exasperated sigh* Yes. What?

C: Mom, did you know that when Jesus was walking to where he would be crucified that he had to carry his own cross, and it weighed, like, 100 pounds? And once he got really tired from carrying that heavy cross that he fell down under it and the soldiers made another man carry it for Jesus. Did you know that? Imagine, what would it be like to carry Jesus' cross for him?

(mental note: give that kid bonus points for pulling such a great distraction out of his hat at such a dangerous moment.)

Good Friday

GOOD-FRIDAY, 1613, RIDING WESTWARD.
by John Donne


LET man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this,
Th' intelligence that moves, devotion is ;
And as the other spheres, by being grown
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a year their natural form obey ;
Pleasure or business, so, our souls admit
For their first mover, and are whirl'd by it.
Hence is't, that I am carried towards the west,
This day, when my soul's form bends to the East.
There I should see a Sun by rising set,
And by that setting endless day beget.
But that Christ on His cross did rise and fall,
Sin had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for me.
Who sees Gods face, that is self-life, must die ;
What a death were it then to see God die ?
It made His own lieutenant, Nature, shrink,
It made His footstool crack, and the sun wink.
Could I behold those hands, which span the poles
And tune all spheres at once, pierced with those holes ?
Could I behold that endless height, which is
Zenith to us and our antipodes,
Humbled below us ? or that blood, which is
The seat of all our soul's, if not of His,
Made dirt of dust, or that flesh which was worn
By God for His apparel, ragg'd and torn ?
If on these things I durst not look, durst I
On His distressed Mother cast mine eye,
Who was God's partner here, and furnish'd thus
Half of that sacrifice which ransom'd us ?
Though these things as I ride be from mine eye,
They're present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them ; and Thou look'st towards me,
O Saviour, as Thou hang'st upon the tree.
I turn my back to thee but to receive
Corrections till Thy mercies bid Thee leave.
O think me worth Thine anger, punish me,
Burn off my rust, and my deformity ;
Restore Thine image, so much, by Thy grace,
That Thou mayst know me, and I'll turn my face.

Whether or not you like the Weather

It is April 18th. That sounds like spring, yes? Well, here in our neck of the woods the vast majority of us have taken off our snow tires, washed and stored our snow suits, pulled out the sundresses and sandals, and even worn capris at least once this month.

And today it is snowing.

I mean, snowing. A fair bit. Not a blizzard. Just like someone is going a little overboard on the icing sugar on their olie bollen. (shout out to the Dutch among my readers! Woot!)

Without sounding like a total Pollyanna, I really, really still think it is pretty. This is a change in my heart. I've not always been a happy weather girl. Historically, I have only been content when the skies are clear, the sun is tempered, and the temperature is between 16 and 24 degrees (for my American readers I'm speaking Celsius, not Fahrenheit. I know that to convert that for you I need to do something with the fraction 5/9ths, but I don't remember what. Let's just say I like the mercury to hover around 60--70F...close enough).

My operating system seems to overheat pretty easily, so a crisp fall day or a cool spring morning, either of which require jeans and a light sweater, make me very, very happy.

In my vocabulary, there are a couple of 'bad words' that I tend to avoid. One starts with a "sh" and the other starts with a "b"...(shorts and bathing suits). Not only do I tend to avoid the words, I actually tend to avoid those articles of clothing. Truthfully, I do not own a pair of shorts and haven't for about 10 years. And I only have a bathing suit on account of the water polo game I've promised to play at our church's women's retreat in June. Seriously. There have been many, many years when I 'forgot to pack it' and had to sit out of the game entirely. Shucks.

Why am I rambling about the weather? Well, it is all reminding me of one year in university in particular: possibly 1994. It was April. We were in exams. And we all came in tanks and shorts and flip flops. And we all sweat like so many pigs stuck in a barnful of desks and stacks of paper, with no ventilation, for 3 hours. I remember thinking it was so demotivating to put forth a good effort on that exam because I was so.stinking.hot that I couldn't care any less about finishing well: I just wanted to finish and get back to an air conditioned mall. What? It's unreasonable to only take 45 minutes to do a 3 hour exam? Whatevs.

However, the very next year, to the very day, was Easter. And as our church held their Sunrise Easter Sunday service in beautiful Victoria park, I stood there, in my Easter sundress, my pretty Easter sandals, and my parka. With an inch of snow at my feet.

Fickle though she may be, Fair April is always good for a test of our contentment. And our sense of humour. Maybe April feels that the Fool's Day needed a full month this year.

Now excuse me: I'm considering going out and building a snowman. And putting an Easter bonnet on him.

Easter Monday

I think I may just spend some time today thinking about these lyrics:

(I must say I love this singalong version. Having the whole body of believers confessing with their mouths that Jesus is the Risen Lord is just pretty stunning to me.)



True Love -- Phil Wickham

Come close listen to the story
About a love more faithful than the morning
The Father gave His only Son just to save us

The earth was shaking in the dark
All creation felt the Father's Broken Heart
Tears were filling Heaven's Eyes
The day that True Love died, the day that True Love died
When blood and water hit the ground
Walls we couldn't move came crashing down
We were free and made alive
The day that True Love died, The day that True Love died

Search your heart you know you can't deny it
Come on, lose your life just so you can find it
The Father gave His only Son just to save us

The Earth was shaking in the dark
All creation felt The Fathers broken heart
Tears were filling Heaven's Eyes
The day that True Love died, the day that True Love died


When blood and water hit the ground
Walls we couldn't move came crashing down
We were free and made alive
The day that True Love died, The day that True Love died

Now, Jesus is alive

Jesus is alive
Jesus is alive
Jesus is alive
Jesus is alive
Oh, He is alive
He rose again

When blood and water hit the ground
Walls we couldn't move came crashing down
We were free and made alive
The day that True Love died, The day that True Love died

Come close listen to the story

Thinking Back to the Most Beautiful Blizzard.

Today my baby turns two. It has made me flashback to the details of his birth and the lessons the Lord taught me at that time. I realize that reading birth stories is not everyone's cup of tea, so feel free to skip this link if you want to. Maybe reading someone's birth story would be highly unhelpful and hurtful to you today, and I don't mean to stir up any painful memories for anyone. However, Zachary's birth stirred up a lot of ugliness in my heart too, at the time, and I am grateful today for the reminder of what the Lord showed me through the details of Zach's arrival, and all that led up to it.

So if you are interested, please join me in reliving this day in history.

Dining Tables

We have two dining tables. One is a solid oak, Mennonite built behemoth, smooth and long, perfectly finished. It stretches out a mile to fit our family and friends with comfortable chairs to match. I love this table. It makes me feel like cooking a roast of something and inviting everyone I know to come and eat with my family. It deserves table runners, charger plates and a fantastic floral centerpiece. Love it.

We also have an old, scratched, cleverly designed, straight off the Boat from Holland, nearly antique, 2 chairs missing dining set. It is too small for our family, the chairs are very straight backed and not so comfy. It is currently in our bedroom as the "sit and have tea while working on your laptop" table.

But guess which table I love more?

That old Dutch beauty has a place in my heart. I love the story of Chris' grandparents buying it as their wedding set and storing it in the barn during the war. I love the idea of my mother-in-law's family using that table in a part of the world I may never see. The idea of meals shared, stories told, cups spilled on this table just warms my heart.

And yet, we now have it relegated to the bedroom where no one but my husband and I get to see it. Why?

Five years ago, when we had *only* four children, we began to find that the table was getting a bit squishy for all of us. We had the 4 matching chairs for the set and then 2 folding-card-table chairs around the table. It was a sight. We decided it would be easier, and more fun for the kids, if we set up the card table in the dining room too. So there would be two girls at the card table and then the other four of us at the 'big' table. It allowed for more elbow room and a bit nicer looking table.

One day, my dear April (it is always April), who was 3 at the time, was sitting at the card table, where I thought she would feel like a big girl, eating all by herself.

As the rest of us sat down to say grace and fill up plates, tears filled April's eyes. When I asked her what was wrong she let the flood gates open, saying, "I just don't feel like part of your family when I sit way over here."

"Way over here" was directly over my shoulder. I could put my hand on her leg from my seat. We held hands with her when we prayed. I passed her her food and drink as quickly as I did the other children, and yet because she was at the "wrong" table, she didn't feel like part of my family.

Needless to say, we, in very short order, used our Income Tax Refund to purchase the Mennonite Table that fits all of us in one place.

Which brings me to today: Maundy Thursday. Quite possibly the most meaningful day for me in the Easter Week. It is all about 'being at the same table'. It is all about 'feeling like family'.

Do you think the disciples appreciated the significance of that Last Supper? Jesus invited them to his table. He served them, ate with them, prayed with them, taught them. They shared a meal like a family, but so much more. He showed them how he was going to make it possible for them to be at his family's banquetting table forever.

And so tonight, as I go to church to celebrate this mysterious meal with my extended family, I will imagine all of us together at the 'big table' sharing a meal of immeasurable significance, uniting our hearts to each other, and to Christ.

How incredible is that? What a thought: that my Creator and my King would invite me to His table, to His family, to His Kingdom. With that as my focus, the rest of the weekend will be so much more powerful as I discover what great cost that invitation carried for Jesus. A simple invitation to eat with Him and sit at His table will cost Him his life.

Heard At My House, Easter Edition

Setting: Driving to a Family gathering. Listening to "Rushing Wind" on the iPod.
4yo son: Mommy, is that Keith Green?
Me: Yes it is.
4yo son: Is he dead?
Me: Yes he is.
4yo son: Then how is he singing?

The Rest Of the Story

February 6th, 2008 was a Wednesday. Not just any Wednesday: Ash Wednesday. Did you know that Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent? And that the focus of Ash Wednesday is repentance? Well, repentance has a lot to do with what happened around here on February 6th 2008.

Over the last 9 years and 6 pregnancies I've grown accustomed to midwifery care and homebirths, no unnecessary interventions or tests, no pain medication, no condescending tones or questionning looks. This 7th pregnancy began much the same.

Then came week 30. I measured as if it were week 33. I laughed "Well I did just spend a few days at my mom's house and boy can she cook!" The midwives didn't laugh. They gave me until the next visit. However at week 32 I was measuring as if it were week 37 and so began the most frustrating and faith testing few weeks for me. And to let you know a bit of the end before we get there, I was very much failing the testing of my faith. More on that soon.

The midwives are required to send "large measuring women" to consult with an OB. This in itself made me cry. I don't want an OB. But then foolish me to ask, "What is wrong with measuring big? Could it just be the way I am carrying? (and the fact that I'm 30 pounds over weight?)"...Maybe....or it could be too much amniotic fluid, or too large of a baby, or gestational diabetes, or some kind of genetic disorder.....

more crying on my part. This is getting hard. I don't do hard. I only do easy. I'm lazy and phlegmatic and this feels like too much.

So to make this long story slightly shorter, I submit to all kinds of tests that I would normally, politely, decline. All tests show normal results. I do not have too much fluid. I do not have diabetes. My baby does not have some malformation or genetic disorder. He/She may be large....Maybe quite large. And as the OB likes to remind me multiple times each visit "You are Grand Multiparas" (which by the way just means I've had more than 4 children). This combined with the "large baby" concern is leading him to believe that if I have a homebirth I am bound to hemmorage and bleed out on my bedroom floor. Therefore he decides for me that I must have a hospital birth governed by an OB, not a midwife although he will allow them to come for moral support, with blood transfusion ready, IV in....waiting for me to bleed to death.

Ah yes. Now there is a relaxing thought as I approach my last few weeks of pregnancy. So like I said, my faith was being tested. My ability to trust in the Lord's Loving Sovereignty was being tested and I was failing miserably. That's where I was at when I wrote earlier. I just felt like everything was out of my control (and it was) and that somehow even the OB had taken things out of God's control. Maybe God meant this to go easy like the other 6 but the Dr. had thwarted His plans.

I kept hearing "Rest....rest.....rest....be still and Know that I am God" and I would say "okay...You are God" and then I'd start freaking out again.

Wow, this shorter version of the long story is still quite long. Sorry about that.

So fast forward to Monday Feb. 4. Remember? I went to hospital thinking I was in labour? After that I was definitely discouraged. Now I was second guessing even my ability to know if I was in labour or not.

Tuesday I spent grumping. And making lasagna and soup for my freezer should this baby ever decide to come.

And then came Wednesday. I told my husband to go to work. You know what they say about a watched pot.....it never goes into labour...or something like that. That's when I noticed that along with these really random, sporadic, inconsistent, yet pretty strong contractions, that it was Ash Wednesday. Of course the kids ask what that means and I have to confess I really don't know except that the Catholic school makes the kids put ashes on their heads in the shape of the cross....I think.

Thanks to Google I see that it is all about repentance, and that Psalm 51 is the reading of choice at most churches. I am cut to the quick and find myself in tears again. But now they aren't angry, fearful tears, they are tears now of repentance and sorrow for my lack of faith and horrible witness both to the midwives and my own children. I spend some time getting right with the Lord and asking Him to forgive me for not believing that He would, and could, do as He wills no matter who is in charge of my file. And for thinking He wasn't loving me by doing something different than what I wanted.

I finally call the midwives and am overjoyed to find that my favourite midwife is back from vacation (a day early by my count) and ask her what she thinks I should do. The contractions have been coming all day, but never in a rhythm that I could call consistent (every 13 minutes, then every 8, then every 4, then every 17....not helpful). She says I don't sound "urgent" and that she'll check me on her way home. I do.not. want to go to hospital early again just to be sent home.

5pm comes and the midwife pops in. I say hi come on in. She checks me. She says "You are 5cm. We need to go now if we are going to go". I say "Sure, my bag is packed, let me call the sitter"....She stops me and says "I'm not sure we have time to get there. Have you seen the weather?" And for the first time I notice that in the last 30 minutes we have been caught in a very bad snow storm....icy roads, poor to no visibility and every thing. Oh. Okay.

But I always take 7 hours or so from this point right? Not this time, she says. She calls Labour and Delivery at the hospital to tell them we are coming while I call my mom and dad to come, and the friend across the street to come in the meantime (my folks live almost an hour away and in this weather?....well the lady across the street would cover the 'inbetween' time.) When I come upstairs to tell the midwife that we are all set, she shakes her head and says "They told us not to come the roads are so bad. They agree that a home birth is safer than a 'on the side of the road in the back seat during a snow storm" birth."

I have to smile. Really? Since when do hospitals say "don't come"? So we page the OB to let him know what is going on and to 'get his permission' (I'm not sure if that's the right term but I hope you get my point). After going over all his concerns with the midwife (no antibiotics on hand, no blood, does she know how to stop me from hemmoraging.....whatever) he gives his okay and asks that we page him again to let him know when baby comes that all is okay.

Well, less than 4 hours later little Zachary arrived, easily, beautifully, quickly, nearly painlessly (I'm not even kidding) healthfully, hungrily, handsomely, peeingly, wonderfully......

And I cried again. Usually I laugh when I hold the baby for the first time. This time I cried. Still ashamed at how I had treated the Lord for the last 6 weeks. Sad for how I had to learn the lesson this way rather than trusting him the whole time. I cried with gratitude and humility and sorrow for my sin and relief and awe at His forgiveness. Shocked that we got 'everything we wanted'. The midwives say "Smart baby. He knew he didn't want to be born in a hospital. He waited for the storm." I thought "Merciful gracious Lord to give us this good gift even after I'd been such a faithless pill."

Zachary means "the Lord remembers"..... He remembers His plans, His purposes, His ways. He remembers my desires, my frailties, my weaknesses, my character. He remembers what is best for me and what will glorify Him.

If only I will learn to remember those things too.

He doesn't always work things out just as we want, and that is not what I gleaned from this experience. I learned (again) to surrender to Him, to watch for how He is working, to trust that He is always on His throne, never sleeping, never caught off guard, always proactive never reactive, always doing what He wants......

This is my Father's world. O let me ne'er forget that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet. This is my Father's world: why should my heart be sad? The Lord is King; let the heavens ring! God reigns; let the earth be glad!

And now you know the rest of the story.

The Destination is Worth The Journey

Thursday night, after a most moving Maundy Thursday service, I found myself driving home very late at night on some treacherous roads. It was the last (Lord Willing!) snow of the year and I was caught in the midst of it. What ought to have been a 54 minute drive (but who's counting) ended up being 1 hour and 45 minutes.

As I drove, white-knuckled and shoulders to my ears, I prayed (through my clenched teeth and sore jaw). I prayed for the storm to stop. I prayed for the roads to clear. I prayed to GET HOME. I prayed for the road home to miraculously shorten. I prayed for skilled driving on my behalf. I prayed there would be no other cars on the road (you know, less obstacles to hit should I spin out of control). I just wanted it to stop.

I even considered on more than one occassion how I could get myself out of this jam. If I turn here, I could spend the night at my in-laws. But no. What about my still-nursing baby waiting for me at home? Who would feed her in the morning? If I turn here, I could spend the night at my parents' house. But no. It really isn't that much closer and the roads are more curvy and hilly.

And then the thought came. What if I just pull into some farmer's driveway and wait it out until daylight? Maybe just sitting here in a cold car with no food, blanket, or even weather appropriate clothes wouldn't be so bad. It might just be better than continuing home. Certainly easier. Certainly requires less faith. Sadly along with that thought came a split second consideration that was a little frightening. I could just drive as fast as normal, spin out of control, sail over the guard rail and wake up in heaven. That might be the easiest yet. Yet also, it would have been the coward's errand.

And so I thought again about my children tucked tightly in their beds and how I wanted to see their chubby faces in the morning. I thought about my husband waiting in our bed, keeping it warm for me, probably snoring, completely unaware of my current stress, and getting ready to steal the sheets when I crawl in beside him. Then I realized: I had to push through this storm to get to the better part. I thought about the service I had just attended and the call to live our lives through the resurrection power of Jesus.

The Word says in Hebrews 12: 2 that Christ endured the cross by focusing on the Joy set before Him. He knew that the End was worth the Means. That is the resurrection power that lives in us now so that we can say with Paul:
"I press on in order that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus...forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward to goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 3:12-14)

As I crawled in to bed that night beside my husband, safe and sound once again, I realized it was worth driving through that storm to get here. Lord, grant me that vision as I travel through the storms of life that I would persevere knowing that the prize of Christ-likeness at the end is well worth the pain and fear I endure along the way. Thank You for loving me enough to let trials like these come to get my attention and draw me back to You. (Heb. 12:4-11)

Good Friday

Today is always a special day for my heart. There is almost something more precious to me about Good Friday than Easter Morning. The idea that Christ would suffer for things that were my fault, that He would do the thing that fixes my mistakes, that He would die so I could live is to me the more stunning thing. Not that Him raising Himself from the dead isn't amazing, but He is God after all. There is a bit of an expectation in my mind that He could do that.

But to willingly say "It's alright, my sister. I see your sins, I know the punishment that is coming your way because of them. I want you to live and serve our Father. I will take that pain for you." ....that is a miracle I can barely fathom. Thank You Lord. You are so good. (and what a sad understatement that is).

It's like when I try to explain to my husband how shocked I continue to be that a) he married me and b) seems to still think it was a good idea. For him it was just the most natural thing to do. For me, it seems to be an otherworldly act that I can't grasp. For Christ, dying on the cross was the right thing to do, and the thing He wanted to do.... I can't get it.
But on a lighter note, maybe this year I will do some Eastery crafts and things with a meaningful touch to really highlight some of this season's beauty. Here is a great recipe that I might actually try. Sounds pretty yummy, not to mention actually useful for teaching the Easter story. Now this looks very cool, but as some of you know painting in my house is a major ordeal, so adding eggs to the mix (literally) sounds not only messy, but expensive. Still, my kids would think I was supermom if I did it. (maybe I'll let Oma know, and she can try it sometime! hee hee).

Regardless, I've been thinking about song lyrics the worship team will be singing on Sunday Morning. One song is pretty repetitive and simple, but sometimes those are the deepest ones. The chorus simply says, over and over, "I've Found Jesus" and I think I need to take this out of the "running-to-the-empty-tomb-and-then-turning-around-at-the-sound-of-his-voice" context and think daily, as I look around at my kids, my calling, my marriage, my circumstances....I've Found Jesus. Seeing Him in the details is going to be the goal this week, and all the weeks ahead.

Because of You every Friday is good Lord, every day is good. You are GOOD! Thank You.