Blaaaaaaah, televangelism makes me so angry.

The peddlers tell lies and hordes believe them.

They use select, warped pieces of Western Christianity to fool people. They prey - I suppose - on those who are searching for the real Jesus.

If their show title includes their name, that's a red flag. 

If they're preaching Christ, they don't want kick-back (in any form).

[I Corinthians 9:1-15]

If they are selling you anything, that's a red flag.

The Gospel is meant to be free. 

[I Corinthians 9:16-8]

If they talk about "what God can do for you" as if He is your smartphone or your executive assistant, that is a red flag.

YES, He serves/served us, but not because that's right. The idea that the One who created you and the rest of the universe would wash your disgusting feet...that's supposed to seem improper. We should probably feel unsettled on some level.

[Philippians 2:6-7, John 13:1-17]

If they don't give credit to God (especially for supposed healing or revelation), that's more than a red flag.

If they leave out the part where salvation isn't universally applied but that individuals must acknowledge their own rebellion against God, acknowledge they deserve death, acknowledge that Jesus took their spot on death row and accept that His death settled their debt, that's a red flag. (Oh, also Jesus stayed dead for three days but then conquered death itself and came back to life. So now those who accept His death on their behalf also get His righteous, eternal life for their behalf. It's kind of a big deal.)

[Romans 3:22-6]

If they use fragments of Scripture that add little substance to what they've said, and more of a religious sheen, that's a red flag.

If they are adding to the Gospel, i.e. if they are telling you you need anything other than God Himself, that's a red flag. No water, no CDs, no "Miracle Mixture" (it was mentioned on a program last night). 

[Philippians 3:4b-10]

If they don't rely heavily on Scripture, what is their credibility? Rhetoric? Flash? Volume and aggressiveness?

If they fail to mention sin, that's a red flag. (Seriously -- we are terrible.)

[Romans 1:18-32]

If they insist you deserve healing or prosperity, that's a red flag. That's incongruous with Scripture. We deserve death and we can expect suffering. 

If we are healed it's for His glory and if we are in pain for life, it's for His glory. 

If they tell you that you can have or should have healing, ask why. Ask, to what end? Our chief end is NOT to get what we want and to be comfortable, it is to glorify Jesus. Everything else in our life submits to that priority.

If they set themself up as a mediary, if they sound like we need the info, the access, the insight, the code words that only they have (and that they can only dole out conservatively), that's a red flag. That's a red flag for any preacher or priest, too.

I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY SLEEP AT NIGHT. You must know you're lying.

If telling the Gospel makes you look good, you're telling it wrong.

Title of Track 10 from Queen's "News of the World"

I was very sad a few hours ago.

I think it's interesting that I walked out of it slowly.  Not sure how to really describe it but now I feel different - not happy, not dejected, not quite neutral, maybe just glad that my sadness could all pour out honestly.

I should have gone home four hours ago but I worked a little past 4 while watching a movie. The movie somehow tapped into the looming frustration I have been grappling with since noon and I just sat in my sadness right through til the credits rolled.

I put my head in my hands, I asked the Lord for guidance and I didn't wipe my cheeks.  I wrote a transparent letter of only eleven lines that I probably won't deliver.  I probably will never say what I wrote and that's why I wrote it. I wanted to say it somewhere other than in my thoughts.  In fact, I was so bent on writing in the moment that I didn't get up to find something more appropriate but scrawled on manuscript paper.  (This is a first.)

The credits continued and I started a personal project that I can't do at home (because my laptop doesn't have a word processor). It's a project I've been meaning to tackle for at least a month and I would still like to put off for another forever but today I just dove in and didn't need any urging.  So I stayed.

I stayed long enough that I wondered if it would mess me up too much to not have dinner until 8 o'clock or so which is when I'd get home if I left at that time. So I thought I should leave.  But I wanted to keep working. So I put together my evening meal from the stuff I used for lunch and it was great.

I made myself a coffee and... it's funny.  It's funny the way the Lord speaks to me sometimes.


[Sometimes He calls me "honey" which is (I suppose not coincidentally) what my earthly father sometimes calls me.  It has a really weird vibe to it because my earthly father calls me that and I have all sorts of baggage and struggles in that relationship. But my Heavenly Father, o how He loves.


He's made my anger subside, which was really unexpected.  It wasn't full, unbridled anger, it was the angry-sad combo which I sometimes think only women experience.  I think it's righteous anger and part of my sadness was at the thought of an irreversibly injured relationship with the addressee of my eleven-line letter.


He's made my anger subside such that I feel like I can talk to this person now.  I don't feel the big, fat wall that I thought was going to make it impossible to speak or to have eye-contact.  I'm relieved.  I don't want disaster.]


The Lord says, "have a coffee, honey," and I am glad for my Dad.  I'm glad that in the empty, dark building while I am sad and at a weird crossroads at the end of an oh-so-strange week, He is right there.  He is more than present in the physical space, He is with me in such a profound way. He wants to be with me and He cares. (I can't usually say those things from my own conviction, as if I am likable or deserving. I can only say it this evening because it's obvious.  It's palpable, it's hanging in the air.)

I am loved.


And that is a thing.


The Lord has softened my heart (and my resolve!) and made me able to wait at least one day before I do or say anything.  From the get-go I knew I had to had to had to wait before I acted (to get in at least one night's sleep) because I was too emotional. But no part of me wanted to wait or felt capable of waiting.  I was ready to pick up the phone.

But now I can wait.  And now my view is less clouded.  And now - and this has really surprised me - I see that I still love.  I still love the addressee deeply and this obstacle isn't going to be insurmountable.  Thank You, Jesus: You're the Guy that does the stuff.  You got this.

Find rest from wrong. (A film review but not really.)

I didn't really want to be that guy who writes a blog post about the first time they watched Les Misérables (2012) but here I am.  It keeps hovering in the back of my mind like few films/plays have.

My thoughts:

-This production was well done.  I see why it's such a juggernaut in the realm of Theatre.  I get why it's in the canon; I greatly respect the composers/contributors.

-It's so refreshing to hear un-doctored singing.

-The depictions of patriotism are staggering.  The fight for justice, the struggle to not be trampled, it is shown in raw form and all of me was rooting for the Trampled.

-There were things about the plot that I didn't like which I don't think I'll mention because that is a different critique.

-The cinematography, the casting, the costumes, the musical arrangements, it was all riveting. It is incredibly rare for me to be unable to do anything else while watching a film.  I usually go out of my way to make sure I've got something else to work on.  With Les Misérables, I couldn't even EAT while watching.

-Russel Crowe deserves props. I don't know why haters be hatin.

-Fantine's story made me angry beyond words.

-The perfect synchronisation of content and form in virtually every song was simply brilliant.  Rousing battle cries sounded like rousing battle cries.  Laments sounded like laments.  Slimy brothel calls sounded like slimy brothel calls. Monologues felt like monologues.  Hope was hopeful. Love was love.  It's well done and that kind of writing is not easy.  Many don't know that kind of writing exists.

-Sacha Baron Cohen impressed me and I think he played well opposite Helena Bonham Carter.  Cohen is a gifted actor and singer.  I wish his work wasn't so often lewd.

-If I'm getting the term right, I think this production of Les Misérables succeeded in a cathartic depiction of prostitution, poverty and war violence (among other things).  I think their depiction was so accurate that the audience didn't think those things were being celebrated.  I think the presentation was so accurate that we wanted to turn away, not to keep watching the smooth choreography or listening to the qualitatively excellent music.

-It was Eponine's solo in the rain, I think around Minute 90, when the title finally clicked for me.  Watching her sing her heart out in anguish, I noted the trend of people expressing deep sorrow through song and then beginning to cry.  I thought, "everyone's SAD in this movie!"  And then I had my duh moment.

-The character Gavroche?? A gem.  And perfectly cast.

-I was about eight minutes into the film (I glanced at the DVD player to be sure I wasn't exaggerating) when I started to cry.  And, as far as I can remember, I have never cried at a movie.  I have been choked up a couple dozen times but I have never so spontaneously broken into tears and then begun sobbing.

Let me tell you why.

Our first protagonist, M. Jean Valjean, has been given papers that mean his status of criminal will follow him the rest of his life.  The papers don't show the details of the "crime" and they leave no room for grace.  Upon his release from nineteen years enslaved/imprisoned we see Valjean has no success finding work or a place to rest his head.  I guess this is what the government (the crown?) intended -- if he can't work or sleep, they have sent him to death.

It makes a difference that we know Valjean was branded a criminal because he stole bread to feed a dying nephew.  It makes a difference that we think he was disproportionately punished and that being on parole for life, being treated like scum for life, is largely unjust.  He is forced to let the papers be his credibility, his character sketch, his trustworthiness and implicitly his value. The justice lover in me is steadily growing more and more incensed.

Scene: Valjean is huddled in a dark corner of a stable, trying to find sleep on the ground.
Someone opens the door and spots him.  Valjean jumps up, ready to flee for his life but the man tells him to come in and partake of wine, food, heat and a bed.  [cue tears]

The tears flow faster as I realise the man didn't even ask for papers so effectively, he didn't care whether he was welcoming a violent murderer. He wasn't asking for a label so he could size up a man in a moment.

And then, processing what I'm feeling, I start thinking, that's the Church. I felt so proud to be a part of it. I felt so glad that the Church, at various points in history, has been the one that shows up when the world wants you dead or goes out of its way to make you feel worthless.
I felt like I was pointing, shouting and leaning out of my seat like the parent whose child just nailed a dismount or hit a homerun. "That's MY Church!!"

That's the Church that Jesus built and is still building. (It's not really "mine" at all.) I'm so glad to be a part of it. I'm so glad to be a part of the Body that's doing what's right.  Here: have some food, have some shelter, have some clothes, get warm.  You are valuable.

When the Church gets it right, it's profoundly beautiful.  It's profoundly beautiful.

I'm looking at the gorgeous abbey or convent or whatever it would have been called in early nineteenth-century France and thinking, these people get nothing out of extending themselves like this to strangers!  They know exactly Who it is that they serve. They know well that what the Church does usually doesn't make sense to the world. And it makes Jesus look so much better.  He's the guy that makes [read: compels, enables] us do right--and we love it.  We delight in serving those Jesus has given us to stand in His place, those He has given us to serve as if we are serving Him.  It's a beautiful thing and it's a joy.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"


If this movie had no other effect on my life than causing me to worship Jesus, to see the Church better, to love it more and to want to engage more, it would be more than alright.

A post that took a while to compose.

I would like to write an essay on how our love of superheroes is a very real reflection of our yearning for Jesus, but I'm not sure I could do the topic justice. (Pun not intended.)

I think of it most when I'm watching the Batman movies, particularly the most recent three. We all know that Gotham City is dark and getting darker and we recognise the need for someone partially outside the situation - someone invested in Gotham but not corrupted by it - to break in and stop the spiral.

In the scenes after Batman gets his suit, car, cave or after Spiderman figures out how to web, aren't we pinning our hopes on him showing up when that screaming lady is being mugged in a back alley? Don't Marvel and DC set it up for us to expect the crime-fighter to show up precisely when needed, to defend the defenceless and exact justice? To be selfless and throw himself into danger for someone else's good?

I know I do. I root so hard. I get right into it.

Humans are great at recognising moral evil; we just lie about it most of the time. We are happy to excuse someone else's evil if it means they won't mention ours. I don't think we see nearly as much grey as we claim to.

The superhero is always flawed; he usually has massive inner turmoil; he's often ousted from normal society, misunderstood, framed or impeded by the law. (He'll do what our hearts know is just but what the law will string him up for.)

But Jesus is better. He doesn't have flaws or baggage, He isn't bound by the law or social/societal norms and His justice literally could not be better. (He's also not bothered by space, time or sin.)

He does show up at exactly the right time to rescue and He rescues completely.

And He loves. And He stays in the dark alley instead of slipping back into the shadows. And His identity isn't dual or hidden. 

I think we gravitate toward and root for superheroes because we can feel our need for an outsider to intervene and get us out of deep trouble.

Shoot- now I really wanna watch The Dark Knight.

happy/pleased

•I currently have the luxury of being able to recline on a soft surface and do relaxing/energising things for about an hour before I need to go to sleep. 

•I feel almost like I'm on hols this week (and last) because working as a receptionist is such a delight for me. It's like all the unsatisfied skills/tendencies/desired areas of service inside me get lit it up brilliantly. It's a joy.

•I made some great headway with a big work project earlier today and I think there's enough momentum for me to be able to put it down for tonight and finish tomorrow. 

•I'm grateful that I don't need to be up before the sun tomorrow. It's like a vacation. 

•I have no large, looming relational issues at the moment. Those can preoccupy my thoughts to a crippling degree.

•It has been a good weekend with a great balance of people time and alone time. I feel like a new precedent has been set.

•I got to spend a couple hours studying the Word.

•I have a big admin project that I'm looking forward to tackling this week. Like, really looking forward because the success of it has real Kingdom and Church implications.

•I have several writing projects on my figurative desk this week - one close to finish, two half-done, another one-quarter finished - and I am enjoying bouncing between them as I think them out over the course of my day/week. On top of this, a proofreading gig found me this morning. Color me chuffed.

•I'm tired at bed time!

•The house is quiet.

•I just caught an ep of the Simpsons.

•I feel refreshed and unburdened for some reason. I wish I could explain it.

A blog post about something.

Last week I had a couple neat moments with the boys. 

That day I was focussed on keeping them in line for the big things, like making sure we got to camp on time with all tasks completed and items in tow.

Two weeks prior (a Wednesday) we had probably our worst morning to date. My anger smouldered throughout the whole day, partly because once they were signed in to camp, my hands were tied.

It was a breaking-point; something was going to give. That morning I had contemplated resigning because the brick wall I was meeting wouldn't respond to gentle nudges. I thought that if I hadn't figured out how to control and to lead in this situation by now, I may never get it and someone who WILL get it should be here instead.

In discussing the situation (including my thoughts of resignation) with my boss, I got my butt handed to me on a plate. I was called out to do better. I did not want to hear it but ...neither did I feel like my quiver was empty yet so I resolved to dig deeper and give it a final shot.

Thursday I wasn't there but Friday I was a drill sergeant. They didn't love it but they understood. I was clear about what could and could not happen and they eventually understood I was serious.

Then a week off and then a holiday Monday and then the Tuesday with the couple of neat things. I was focussed on getting the main things done.

When we were leaving the house, B doubled back and turned out the lights in his bedroom without my prompting. That has never happened before. I usually make myself the last one out so I can cut the lights behind the boys. Inevitably someone forgets something and turns on every light they pass (even the light for a room they aren't entering) and so I call from the bottom of the stairs for them to re-extinguish.

Then I stopped bothering as much because one more order on top of the normal we-need-to-get-to-school/camp orders makes them more distracted and more able to de-prioritise everything I'm saying. (I really didn't like conceding that one.) On top of this, hydro is included in the rent so I can't play the "we don't want to waste your dad's money" card.

But B did it and as he passed me on the stairs, he said happily, "Good thing I remembered to turn off the lights, right?"

I thought I was going to be the first person in history to die from a smiling overdose.

I had to turn away from him and keep my "yep" as calm as possible. I love that he picked up a good habit from me.

Really love it. It means so much.

The other neat moment came on our walk to camp when I stopped dead, backtracked a few paces and peered closely at the greens beside the sidewalk.

"What're you lookin' at, Jesskah?" (I'm typing this like you can hear the light, earnest tone that's bursting at the seams with inquisitiveness.. but I guess I probably can't translate it.)

"I thought I saw a four-leaf clover but I was wrong." [silence long enough to indicate this is an unfamiliar topic; I can practically hear them thinking/processing] "It only had three leaves."

B: "Why did you [hope it was a four-leaf clover]?"

Me: (Suddenly realising I don't want to communicate that I am superstitious) "Because they're really rare... and some people think they're good luck." 

B: "Oh."

J tells me just how rare they are, that in one person's lawn you'd probably find one four-leaf clover...

I think it's ridiculous that he'll speak like an expert when he is actually completely in the dark BUT I still think it's super cute and fun that they both would take a few moments to explore a topic of mild interest to me. 

Most of our time is usually about them (as it should be) and the lion's share of the talking is always done by them. So in those few moments they're interested in talking about me, something I'm interested in, something I'm doing, something I'm well versed in, I rather enjoy it. It makes me feel like they see me as a particular person, not just an adult who's around. 

I like being a particular person, especially to them.

Sometimes I think I am secretly a New Yorker at heart.

(I realise that can't be true.)

I went to J's games tonight and it was a lot of fun.  He asked me at least three time this week if I could come and I told him I probably could but needed to check with his dad.  Instead of saying that it was fine with him or that it was up to me like he usually does, Dad said yes and sounded not unhappy about it.

It's the playoffs and because Wednesday's game was canned on account of thunderstorms, tonight was a double-header.  It was exciting.  There were other games going on at the same time in neighbouring diamonds so the general excitement of playoff season was even bigger.

When we first pulled in, my brain started throwing a tantrum.  It refused to go.  It insisted that it would fold its arms, pull a pouty face and plop down right in the middle of the grocery store because it didn't want to take one more step.  From 6.30 in the AM I was around people; I was working and by the time 5.50pm showed its haggard face, I was zombified.

I literally sat in the passenger seat and stared a thousand yards into the distance, seatbelt still on, ignoring the bustle around me to get cleats and gloves and bags...

My friend asked if I was coming in a way that didn't sound sarcastic-ish...I think he truly wondered whether I'd completely changed my mind.  I sputtered that I would be over there shortly.  He says, "Okaaay.." in a strange way so I sputter even worse that I "just need to not be around people for a bit".

Fantastic moment of [big exhale] that I could just declare a need like that and have it understood.  They carried on and left me in the parking lot.  I sat on the grass with my head in my hands and eyes screwed shut.  Not exactly sure what that was about but it was what my id was screaming for.

Those little five minutes where no one was around, no one was talking to me, no one needed me, they went a decent distance.

Then on the bleachers my head was still in my hands on and off between batters or pitches and I contemplated throwing some earbuds in to have music block the talking around me and to help me feel like I could control my environment.

This is not what I meant to write about at all.  I meant to say that it was a rough start and I almost tapped out but I am so glad and so grateful that I was able to stay for the long haul, all the way to 22.30.


I made some new friends: the siblings of one player, his mom and then another player's mom.  It felt unprecedented.  I had taken an hour's excursion to go meet a friend that needed urgent help and that twenty-minute walk back into town, brief chat where I was all listen, opportunity to bless with an Iced Capp well received, a fifteen-minute wait in an airconditioned Tim Hortons, triumphant return of the friend (who had borrowed my keys) and another twenty-minute walk back into the park, all of that did very well for filling my tank. 

I had planned to stay on the bleachers for every inning of both games but I'm deeply grateful that a need pulled me away for so long.  It helped.


I was friendly and outgoing; enjoying the kids - especially the littlebert who laughed when I told him my name was Fred but called me by it for the rest of the evening - enjoying the other adults including me sporadically in their chatter and enjoying that all of this people time felt natural enough and not intensely draining.


Near the end of the second game, the other two moms and I would do the Wave for each player that reached base.  Mom the Middle would yell the player's name and Mom at the Far End would start the Wave.  We all participated; the recipient baserunner would grin, laugh, blush or all three; and we would then laugh. 

I don't even care.  Still in my camp shirt, combatting insects and gross clammyness of dew and low temperatures, combatting fatigue and brainlessness I was having a great Friday night.  I was into the game and into the evening and I didn't even bother taking the back of my brain elsewhere to occupy it.


The team was doing well so we didn't even have to be creative with our encouragement.  The three of us were getting sillier and louder but I think our sincerity was evident and the team's morale tracked upward with us. After the second or third Wave the 3B coach (who also happened to be my friend/the kids' dad) turned and explained how he thought the team had had quiet spectators all season UNTIL NOW and said as genuine a "thank you" as I've ever heard him say.  He does have a soft heart toward children and instinctively looks out for them. He seemed a little moved as a coach (and presumably as a dad) to be hearing the support and seeing how it was affecting his players. That coachly nod was kind encouragement.



My friend and I were overall fine which was a huge relief because, to put it simply, we can be pretty up-and-down.  We were both relaxed and interacted like reasonably good friends, exchanging snippets here and there like an inside joke or jabs or conversation blips (maybe like text-messages if you know the person well, where a comment or question can be thrown out at any time with no need of a preamble or follow-up?), but mostly talked to other people because we know we get to see one another all the time. I was happy to not be obligated in that way but also to have a glad-you're-here/happy-to-be-here connection. Zero tension.


Taking my cue from my friend's joke-not-joke to B that they would bring blow-horns to tomorrow's game, I said I would bring pompoms and I am not joking.  He said they'd pick me up.  Wherever it's right, I'm happy, grateful and humbled (among other things) to be a part of this family.  For a day where I had more than a few moments of feeling overwhelmed by how much I love these boys - wanting to just blurt it out - this was a perfect ending.

Well, that's another Wednesday in the books.

Just finished a conversation with an unlikely friend. To be fair, I don't think we're properly friends or ever will be. I think we'll continue getting along just fine as our paths cross but I don't know if long-term friendship will pan out. We're quite different.

Where we're different, it's stark but where we see eye-to-eye, it's glorious.

It's really nice to chat with someone - possibly the only someone of this ilk that I know - who can (and does) talk and think about music more than I do.

I realise he has many peers in this but for me right now he's acting as a sort of outlet and I'm grateful. He won't let me talk theory but that's OK. We think deeply about music and we both have ideas for shape, feel, flow, color and so we can talk at a level that most people (in my experience) roll their eyes at (even though most of them enjoy the finished product!).

He seems never to run out of interesting things to show me.

When tonight's rehearsal was officially adjourned, I said as quiet-loudly* as I could, "Now play something fun."

*this means I wanted to tune one person's frequency and no one else's.

A kind of "Oh-ho!"-chortle came out and he picked around briefly while I began shutting and covering the piano. Then he launched into what I hear as a IV65/I - V65/I - I. 

I threw my fists up into the air (à la Steve Holt, perhaps) and yelled, "Yes! Beautiful Things! Gungör!"

He plays on, barely looks up at me because he is focussed, a pick in his mouth and he nods assent in time with the music.

The piano cover is almost embarrassingly not one-third of the way messily on before I have decided I need to play along. I leap up to the electric keyboard because this song wants strings. (It begs for cello.)

He played and I joined. I added fat strings and sang a close harmony. 

I...loved it. It may have lasted two minutes but to sing into a song like that with someone else who is singing into it, with someone else who also sees the whole song, also knows the nuances, also knows the original recording well (and ALSO LOVES JESUS-- that is the cherry of all cherries on top of anything positive I'm here writing) ... I'm grateful for that mini-moment.

From that song and until we parted ways downtown an hour later, we chatted about music, ministry, God's goodness, charity work, music again, musicianship, worship, vision and so forth. We talked very briefly about our upcoming coworkership. I settled for a high-five where I would have wanted a handshake and we overlapped our "I'm excited"s that we each pretended was a self-directed musing but was actually very intentionally meant to be heard by the other person.

He played for me a couple songs with highlighted bits and commentary and he heard my scraps of feedback -- an almost-weekly occurence.

I really appreciate someone continually showing me what's "out there" and I appreciate how this must be borne out of a sheer love for music. (He can't keep it to himself.)

There was another mini-moment earlier this evening that I want to say was even more profound. I think it was a bridge that the rest of the band didn't know and possibly after I proposed a key change. So he and I are the only ones playing, trying to gauge singability.

I didn't need to play or sing because he's the lead vocalist and it's his comfort that's paramount. But I sang and I played because I felt like it and I didn't think I'd distract him.

Arguably by the first line he already knew but he kept playing. The singers couldn't join because they'd never heard this bridge (we were about to teach it) and the guitars couldn't join because they didn't know what key we were in yet (we weren't certain). So we were left duetting. There was chatting and some background fiddling but he and I sang and then started singing together.

I dropped the tight harmonies and I followed his lead. I let the piano embellish the guitar and we both let our full passion (for God and for good music) slip out because we weren't carrying the band.

In the context of a full-band rehearsal this shouldn't happen but for tonight I'm glad it did. I tell you what- I have never sung making eye-contact with someone as they sang back at me but it was something. To worship deeply because you have the same heart for Jesus AND the same freedom in music, it's incredible. It actually added something that we were looking at one another. It's deliberate engagement; we were worshipping, not rehearsing. [I'm sad that this is so noteworthy a happening.]

We just sang together. It was together like each voice would be less on its own and needed to be half of a whole. (Like something being greater than the sum of its parts?) What a way to worship.

I am grateful. Really.

 

Masters of Etymology

Alternate title: So Which One's the Hard Place and Which One's the Rock?

I feel stuck. It's not the big kind of life-situation stuck but perhaps we'd say I feel emotionally cornered or caught.

[Feel also right now like I'd give anything to read a scrap of leisure literature but I've been assigned to a strict diet of Bible-only for the next short while. Just last week I found myself daydreaming while I was in a staff meeting about sinking into a collection of Roald Dahl short stories. Yes, in that moment I craved solitude and clever writing over conversation with a handful of people.]

I consider that I have a lot to say about how I feel right now and what I'm processing or working through. I also don't know if I want to talk to anyone. 

I felt several hours ago like I wanted to talk to someone but I didn't even have a short list. I feel like I've worn my friends out.

I want to say something [rock]

but I can't. [hard place]

I feel a lot of things [rock]

but I don't know what I'm dealing with. [hard place]

I know Christ [Rock]

I live in a fallen world. [hard place]

"I wish!"

"I wish that were the case," is what I might perkily reply in some possible world when I'm asked if B is my son.

It has consistently been my reflex to reply that way when the mother of another player at J's ball game inquires. I've never said it because it sounds weird. More than that, it doesn't convey what I mean. 

"I wish":

On one level, I would be honored to be a mother at all.

"I wish":

Additionally, I want these boys to have a mum.

"I wish":

It means a lot to me that a stranger can pick up in twenty minutes the strength of the bond between the boys and me. 

Are they yours? and I smile massive, like I'm basking in the relationship.

"I wish":

I wish there was a way I could have a maternal-like relationship with the kids wherein I care for them, build into them, pray for them and love them for their entire lives, at a distance that appropriately adjusts over time.

Yes, that's what I mean. That last one.

My heart breaks at the thought of leaving them, of doing anything to hurt them, of failing to be there when they need me, of not being there to protect them...but they aren't mine. They just aren't mine.

--

"I wish":

I very grudgingly say "no" to the question, wishing it didn't feel like such a demotion to describe the official connection. 

It's almost like admitting I haven't sat any RCM exams. Suddenly my piano skills aren't what they sound like because there's no Grade number.

But I really can play!

But I really do love them!

This is not the post I intended to write but I'm happy with it.

What I meant to write:

(1) It seemed this morning that for the first time I saw through a pinhole down a mile-long tunnel a glimpse of eternity. 

Watching the lyrics for the third verse of 10 000 Reasons (Bless the Lord) being projected on the screen it finally grabbed me. It was that sharp pin puncturing the pitch black wall or veil and some very cool yellow light broke through.

I think I have taken the first step toward fathoming eternity and where I'll spend it.

This is significant.

(I don't think I can go on writing about it but I am [excited] because now I can catch up with all the Christians who seem to get it and live under that knowledge. I am also looking forward to the truth working its way through my self and life so my pastor will stop yelling at me for not being jubilant on the topic.)

(2) This:

[The man who delights in and meditates on the law of the Lord] is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers.

Psalm 2:3

This made sense to me in a deep way for the first time this morning and then sunk even deeper on my walk to this coffee and blogging.

That tree, that man, lacks nothing. The source is near and sure.

We don't worry about its source of life like we do for the trees that are inland.

I ...

   ...

...have nothing to worry about. I can weather it. My roots go deep and He is steadfast. This is amazing. This is going to change my life. I can be bolder because what can man do to me?

(Again I have to stop writing because it's inexpressible.)

(3) Our vocal and instrumental leader killed it this morning. He loves God and it oozes from every pore. He worships hard and the rest of us scramble to keep up. It's fantastic. And I appreciate his humility.

He's like the person I've been waiting for to breathe life into or to wear or to exact the sets I compile. In the Lord's grace we complement one another and it's dynamic. It's a privilege to watch from the outside and to participate in.

And this morning it was a glorious partnership between the music and the word preached and I am beside myself.  The Lord does stuff.

After service I silently shook hands with the leader and made some "I'm speechless" gestures, nodding along with his verbal marvelling.

"[Our pastor] set it up..." he says with a big grin, trailing off because he knows I know the implication.

I go to grab something from the back room and on my return I say, "I hope that me shaking your hand in front of all of these people doesn't look like I think WE did something." He laughs. I'm chuffed I don't have to expand on comments like that with him.

I try to walk away but then turn back to say, "And how did Matt Redman know we needed that song this morning?!" He nods, laughs and says, "I know," through his chuckling.

I try to leave one more time but then turn again knowing I may never have the nerve again, I confess, "The real reason I shook your hand was because I wanted to say, 'I'm glad you're here'."

Instead of talking more like I wanted to, to gloss over the moment of vulnerability, I just held eye-contact hoping he would pick up that I wasn't being flippant. He picked it up. He made a funny face that looked like my comment had made an impact. He had no reply. My opinion shouldn't matter to him because he knows what he brings and he is surely being appreciated and encouraged by many, week after week.

I said it because I wanted to -- almost because I needed to. And he took it. Good Sunday.

Phew.

Alternate title: "Something."

I do not know how I am so awake and so even right now BUT, I feel grateful. I've been through quite a bit in the last week and in the last 12 hours but here I sit with a delicious coffee and a Blogger app that actually works.

[Thank You, Jesus, for giving me blessful things that I don't need but can greatly enjoy.]

Last night I got back just after midnight from a wedding in Leamington. It may be a legitimate miracle that I didn't die en route because of how drowsy I was. (For about an hour of the four I was kept easily awake by practising a confrontation I need to initiate this week. I was/am passionate and uninhibited enough in my rebukeversation that my brain focussed well.]

I didn't drive home but to Work B because I needed to finish the slides for tomorrow's service. This week slipped away from me.

Around 2am I had a weird moment of recollection. When asked how I would make time for my music job when my camp job would take up so much of the week, I would tell people I had carved enough time in the week to do the minimum. [Only late in Week 3 did I realise nine is far fewer than twenty-five.]

Apparently I have a hard time standing for the minimum.

People asked if I would put in evenings (or assumed I'd have to) and I would say to them that, no, I was going to keep good boundaries. I was going to do less or do the same in less time.

Sigh. I slept between 12.30 and 1am in the car--just threw the seat back and gave in to the heavy eyelids.

Then between 1.10 and 1.40 I was in and out of weird sleep in the rear pew in a cold, clammy, dark auditorium. I finally got up and started working. I told myself I could afford to work til 2 and still get enough sleep to be ready for rehearsal at 8.30. 

Because of slowness of brain

because I was sifting through notes on 130-odd psalms on four pages in two notebooks

because I prize uniformity and aesthetics (and am a secret perfectionist)

and because there were computer glitches I couldn't circumvent,

I didn't leave til about 4.40. I was in bed before 5 and flabberghasted that I was partially lucid when my alarm sounded at 7.03. I hit snooze and sent time-sensitive texts regarding the service and glitches until about 7.47 because I am a lazy waker like that.

More computer glitches and more frustrations but we made it. This isn't at all what I meant to blog about.

Let's try it again.

It is most certainly bed time.

But how can I sleep before I write about His wonders??


This should be brief but I want to say how amazed and awed I am by things I've seen God do this week.


My personality, interests and skill-set are not well suited to working for a kids day camp. And yet, I have been employed by one this summer.


I have been thinking about and preparing for this job for a few months, anticipating great stretching, discomfort, frustration and discouraging challenges. I've been dreading it. But, the three big reasons I said yes to the position still remain and act as a solid backstop.

The three reasons, actually, have made me think that the Father wants me in this position and so that has become the meta-reason or meta-motivation.
[I wish I had a better grasp on the English language.]


On the first day I was just floored by how [easily] the day trotted along. I felt like God had just shut my mouth in my dread-filled attitude. It was more than fine. The day went well. I contributed and I did my job.


The boys I've been taking care of the past several months, they have trained me in kid-chat. (If that falls under the heading of small talk then it's the only kind of small talk I don't loathe. I suspect it doesn't fit that category because it has a purpose. I suppose I don't loathe it because children lack the capacity for the kind of deep conversation I prefer, so I can't whine about not getting what's unavailable.)


Kid-chat means something. It goes far. I don't think I knew I could do it--and so naturally. I am sensitive enough that I don't push to engage every child I come into proximity with and that might not be the norm for camp but as someone who tries to send clear signals when I wish to be left alone or left alone with my thoughts, it's important to me to try to respect that in others.


For some kids (for one kid who was my bus mate this afternoon) it takes one timely observation and you've connected without needing to say anything else. [Sometimes I think introverts have a secret language.] The child seems to know after that that they can sidle up at any time and say one sentence right back. Introvert's Code.


It's lovely that we start each day with staff devos. I'm delighted that we start each day quietly and meditatively with eight people before starting loudly and actively with 18 million chatterbox energy balls.


With each new something that each day has held I have been sure it was the thing that would at least partially legitimise my dread but no.


But, no.



He equips me or has been equipping me and each new challenge is met with Christ-wrought prowess that astounds me, even in the moment as I stand outside my own body and look on.


I'm not excellent or exceptional but "I" am doing more and handling better than I should be able to and Amen that it's for His Name.


I'm even learning to not despise corporate prayer (a breakthrough after several years).


On the morning of the first day, I leaned into my boss' office and asked pointedly, "How'm I gonna do this job?"
I displayed some cousin of Panic on my face and stared intently after an answer. He knew what I meant and did the sigh, nod and small, sympathetic smile that I've seen more than once before.


He said I was gonna be fine [my brain checks off "platitude"]; he advises me to be glad (or was it grateful?) when I do get time on my own (three afternoons of five) [my brain appreciates acknowledgement of my preferences & needs and of the stretching]; he said the Lord was going to give me what I need to work outside my personality [my brain gets real-er and I try to embed this by affirming, "He must, right??"].


I did my own sigh and nod of "I can do this" and "no turning back" (I think the last whisper of "I could quit" dissipated at that moment; I was all in) as I turned on my heel to go to work.


I felt silly that a vote of confidence could mean so much but it helped. [Editor's note: Fell asleep here around 11.15; finished at time of posting.] And I have met each challenge, each task, each child with the belief that I possibly CAN do well. This is significant. With each [victory] the Lord gives, I am even more confident and more eager to see what other hurdles He will enable me to clear this summer.


--


And THEN next week J and B will be among us and the dynamic changes entirely. Before this week I was anticipating it would be tough to feel responsible for them but need to entrust them to someone else. I anticipated needing to assist their coaches with discipline because I know how many handfuls they are. I anticipated needing to remind them they don't get special privileges or special access because I'm there.

But now, I am only looking forward to having them around again after a week apart. We'll meet the other challenges as they come.

B says funny things sometimes.

This evening I took him to baseball practice and there were times when he made me laugh out loud like any friend/adult could; I wasn't "humoring" him a bit.



(A) His diamond is near to the University of Guelph where I needed to drop off books and I was surprised he had no complaints about our stop.  As we pulled in I informed him, "This is where I used to go to school," and instantly his interest ballooned 300%.  He helped me with the parking metre, asked me about some of the buildings and emitted a genuine "whoah" when we stepped into the UC.  I guess it is a bit bigger and more impressive than his elementary school.


A few steps from the libby, I shifted the eight-high stack and he asked, "Are the books getting heavy now?" and I wanted to tell him what a grown-up thing that is to say.  Not just that he would notice, and figure out why I'd shift from one arm to another, but the phrasing: the books' weight didn't change and he knew that.


He was impressively quiet and followsome as could be while I did my thing, probably owing in equal parts to his going full-throttle at practice for an hour (which was after 30 minutes of football at home), owing to it being an hour past his bed time and owning to the tasty bag of crackery things in his hand that he didn't need to share with his brother.  [I weirdly enjoyed being able to give those to him.  Pulling out of practice he asked if I had any food and remembering the surplus from my lunch was in the back seat made me very happy.  Perhaps it's a merging of my love for feeding people, my love for B and the thing I have about being prepared.  I love having the right thing for the right situation, or the problem-solvishly adaptable thing for the situation.]



(B) On the way back to the car he spies the heavily painted outdated weapon-statue and exclaims, "Is that a cannon?!?"  I'm smiling because for some reason it's cool to me to share my alma mater with this kid.  I almost pointed it out to him on the way up but wasn't sure he'd really care.

I tell him yes and yes again when he asks if we can go look at it.  He climbs up on top while he asks all sorts of questions.  I'm surprised he so easily gets why students paint it.  Conscious of the parking metre and the desire to get back to the house before the others, I urge him along sooner than I really wanted to.

He made sure to look down the chase* and when he skipped back over to me on the path he had a chunk of malleable paint layers in his hand.  "Look what I got!"  I tell him I think it's cool (because I do).  "Now I'm a part of the cannon!"

B often makes me work hard to understand what he means when he's speaking but this one really thew me for a loop.  Does he mean he's now part of a long tradition of Painting the Cannon?!  If so that's a very [insightful] thing for the little dude to say.  Maybe he meant he simply has a piece of it... Either way he made me laugh.
*I had to look it up.



(C) On the way to the diamond, he picked up the small folder that holds the vehicle's insurance and registration.

"What's this?"

"It's the insurance for this car."

"What insurance?"

(I think he means, "what is insurance?" but either way I'm stumped for an answer for his six-year-old brain.)

Holding it open to me: "What does this say?"

"That has all the information about who owns this car and who does the insurance for it."

"Who owns this car?"

I lean over and read the only name on the policy: "Dennis Fisher."

"Is that a guy or a girl?"

I hesitate slightly, deciding whether I should tell him "Dennis" is always a man's name but I'm not sure he's there yet.  "It's a guy," I reply, being careful to muffle my amusement.

His eyes bug and he leans in slightly. "You know a guy??"


Oh, I laughed so hard.  I don't know what he meant.  I don't know why that shocks him.  Does he think girls are friends with girls and boys are friends with boys?  Does he think I don't have friends outside of his family?  Does he know that our culture has a place for the phrase "I know a guy"? Everything about it was funny.  He was really shocked.  I now wish I had asked why he was shocked or what he meant.


I replied to the affirmative and he sat back and said, "Wow," quietly.  I really don't know what was running through his mind but this was possibly the highlight of my night.

The Fourth and Final

It must be finished today or it'll never happen. 


The University of Guelph's campus has changed over the last decade that I've frequented it but it's still beautiful and still fun.  The University Centre looks more different than I'd like but it's still tasteful and compelling.  I remember the first time I asked where the "University Centre" was, in September of 2002 and I remember never calling it that again because everyone said the "UC".  Just like our pub was called "The Keg" (as it had been named until that September), not "The Brass Taps" as is written on the sign.  How cool was I???!!


I went to the library and found the hundred millionteen books my friend had asked me to borrow.  I loved it.  I enjoy libraries, I enjoy searching for things and I enjoy being helpful. 

I went to the front desk, about 30% hopeful they'd let me check the books out with the card I had. I didn't want to walk across campus to get the card I probably needed (even though it was free).  I was mindful of my parking metre and of my generally tight schedule.

I didn't anticipate feeling so much pain handing over the six bills to pay my fines and clear the account.  It was super ouchy.  But the fines are just and the borrowing privileges are worth it.

They made me walk across campus. I felt annoyed.  But it needed to be done.  And then it would be done.  I checked the books out, happy as a pear and went to make my final stop before Work A. 

My friend had slipped a silly request to the list, "The Will and the Dahl: An Exploratory Essay on Danny the Champion of the World and its Semi-Augustinian Roots" by Rolled Doll (call number P2.1984.JSKHFQN found at UGiantPeach), so when I stopped to get dessert for the house, I also picked out the giantest peach I could find.  It made me happy that a gag gift and silly, pseudo-inside joke was also cheap and edible. 



Twelve days later, my best recollection is that the boys were fine after school.  We stayed in.  I cooked.  It was hot.  We ate in silence, all four of us in the living room (this is rare), watching "M*A*S*H" (1972-1983).  J and S loved the corn the most, B went to town on the Tater Tots and the fish was nothing to write home about, to be honest.

Practice had been canceled due to inclement weather and the adults were relieved.  I was particularly relieved because my evening engagement would overlap and I was not looking forward to leaving J at the diamond with his team and coach, even if Dad was fine with it. 

Kids went out to play hockey in the garage, I stayed till the next ad break in "M*A*S*H" and then I drowsily announced to my drowsy counterpart, "Well... I'm gonna go sleep in a pew for an hour."

He says a slow perplexed, "Okaaaay..." because he has forgotten about the evening event.  I'm glad we cleared this up because without that context me going to sleep in a pew when I could sleep at home is pretty strange.


I got in the car and drove away.  Partly from movement, partly from the joy of driving, partly from being outside a bit and then, on entering the church building, partly from adrenaline, I was awake again.  I think I also felt energised by being alone in the building.  Before napping I did one more run through the songs.  Knowing I had them in hand on the piano we'd be using that evening, the one with a broken sustain pedal and poor tuning, I relaxed and flopped down on a pew.


I dropped into deep sleep rather quickly and forty-five-ish minutes later when I started hearing others in the building, I legitimately didn't care if I was discovered there.  People could make "napping on the job" jokes to their hearts' content; I was staying til the last ten minutes.


It's been too long since this Thursday for me to tell the front-row account like I want to.  I know that the evening went well.  I know that learning to lead musical worship as a singer without piano is something I want to work on because I think it's a good tool to have in my belt.  For this same reason I want to learn to play the guitar.  (And if I was a millionaire with the right amount of freedom and free time, I'd learn about playing percussion, too, just so I could speak to it and hear it better.)


The event was called "Reflect! Relax! Rejoice!" and the theme just permeated.  It was an excellent time of reflection and rejoicing.  The ladies sat at their tables with coffee & tea and there was singing in worship, a slideshow reflecting on the past year of Women's Ministry (and a bonus segment reflecting on previous years) and one lady shared her testimony.

I almost always struggle to feel like I fit in with Women's Ministry Events because I seem to be in the wrong life stage or to have had the wrong upbringing, wrong clothing, wrong small talk, wrong interests -- something.  This event seemed different.  It was neat that these ladies came out on a Thursday night to worship the Lord and to do fellowship or community-building.  For probably the first time, I felt like I could just step in and be a part of it and that felt not difficult.



When the speaker shared her testimony I was incredibly engaged.  I don't know what was hooking me but I was so interested that I don't remember looking away for the full twenty or twenty-five minutes.  I always love hearing stories of how Jesus has shaped someone's life; how He has called people to Himself but I felt particularly enraptured that night.

I liked the way she shared, the shape of her story.  I liked that it was atypical, based on the sampling of testimonies I've heard.  I liked how it was so much more than her [conversion].  I really liked that she gave me a couple meaningful songs from her Story to weave into the sets of corporate worship.  I also like that she gave me the solo song she wanted.  I felt privileged to follow her with it.


I felt rather small or humbled when I went up to sing.  I just followed the music and did my best.  I felt like I wasn't doing anything, like the room was hollow.  But the song is beautiful and I was singing to the Lord, the transformation-faith account fresh in my mind.



It was interesting how much my disposition changed, once the program was over.  I was off the clock and ready to socialise.  I parked by the dessert table and stuffed myself, now that the butterflies had vacated.  I chatted with a few lovely ladies and eventually headed home.

When I turned to leave, the speaker called my name and asked if I was a huggy person as she advanced toward me.  I said, "Yes," for the first time in my life.  She hugged me like I had given her a gift. 


:)


Fine.  She told me what she thought of my singing and I replied that that kind of comment is always meaningful but that it's even more coming from someone who listens to that song/that CD multiple times a day.  If she thought my disheveled version was passable then I'm humbled. I took her comment to heart.  I felt privileged to have been a part of the evening.  I also felt privileged that the Lord was using this event and that week to form the foundation for a future friendship [alliteration] with this woman who I'd been meaning to get to know.  I could say more but I'm done.