Category: Uncategorized

It seemed fitting this year that trying to mark my birthday by the simplest of celebrations, making a rare outing to use my Starbucks birthday reward, should be fraught with peril. This entire post already sounds decadent and whiny, but I promise, it won’t last.

I’d gone on a morning cross country ski by my lonesome, enjoying crisp air and golden sun in the pines. I’d come home to my husband’s homemade waffles, and crispy bacon, rich, mocha-laced coffee, all things delicious. I’d then set out in optimism, despite all this year has thrown at us. I arrived at the local Indigo bookstore where a Starbucks usually lives in its midst. As I wandered, seeing others also masked and keeping distance, all of us endeavouring to be considerate and responsible, I also realized that, due to the pandemic, the Starbucks was closed. I wandered, a bit disappointed but knowing there was one in the Safeway across the street. I browsed in what is usually my comfort zone: books upon books upon books, but was beginning to realize that retail therapy wasn’t cutting it, that I was restless, weary, when faced with seeing how the pandemic has changed even these large and seemingly untouched businesses, and our shopping and social habits.

I left with only one purchase for the kids, and headed across the busy road and plaza parking lots to the Safeway to try again to redeem my birthday treat. I made my way in, and was thwarted even there because birthday treats aren’t redeemable at licensed stores (as an ex-employee, I should have known this, but had forgotten). I knew it was just silly and slightly irresponsible to drive to another one to try for a third time. I was frustrated, feeling already frivolous for making two wholly unnecessary stops and indeed, an entire hour’s drive for what had been a fruitless shopping trip and a still-empty coffee mug.

I got back in my car and the weight of the year seemed to fall on me. The realization that today was typical of the way that trying to do even the simple, almost mindless tasks we’d taken for granted had been made complicated or even impossible by this past year. That I’d spent a year being disappointed again and again, in the big things like an overseas trip, to the small things, like date nights at a restaurant. The weariness in absorbing the emotions and angst of those around me, of processing not just my own frustrations, but those of friends, work colleagues, church family, social media acquaintances, across the spectrum of positions and views… it all tumbled down and waved over me again. Pressing on to hope had seemed a two steps forward, one step back trek for so long. The scope of frustration has touched every single aspect of life, from toilet paper to politics, and no one is secure or comfortable.

I’m in a privileged demographic, and the weight I feel is one that is relatively minor in the grand, global, and even national, scope of seriousness. I’m more aware and looking for ways to raise up and give voice to the most vulnerable and marginalized, sensitive in ways I haven’t been and needed to be.

I sobbed. I cried the entire drive home. I cried for myself, aware it was a “woe-is-me, I missed out on free coffee” trigger, but knowing the depths of the tears came from a year of waiting and weighting down, of living in the “not-yet” in a little too literal a way. I cried for those literally dying under the weight of this year. For those in desperate frustration over the lack of leadership in so many places, sacred AND secular, that had been revealed, raw this year. For the twisting of truth to play to the power-hungry, those desperately seeking to restore their own comfort and security, at any cost. For even the pain that has been necessary in the personal growing up this year has caused. I mourned that these lessons are hard. That developing character, perseverance, trust, takes so much patience and hope deferred. I cried over the library being closed. Reader, I am both basic AND contain unplumbed depths, just go with it.

I came home and laid down, the weariness in my bones now. I groaned for my own shallow places, and for the depths that were also in pain. The duality of mourning both lost coffee and lost lives. I remembered that God IS redeeming. That one day, all will be redeemed fully, and those who look to the Redeemer in the simplest faith they can find, will rest. I realized that getting pulled too much into the past or fretting too far into the future is a wide pit. That ability and peace to live and serve is found in TODAY. In seeking Him who is the I AM. Who is in the past, present, and future, and says we do not need to be. I can function, one step, one day at a time. Paralysis comes in looking too far behind or forward. The waves and billows lie outside of my next right step. I’m on solid ground when I stand in today next to the Author and Keeper of all time.

It is because of the Lord’s lovingkindnesses
that we are not consumed,
Because His (tender) compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
Great and beyond measure is Your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23, AMP

I am not even going to look at the last post I wrote here, because it will be too disconcerting to see how long it’s been. Words have felt heavy to lift the last few months. My words. Other people’s words.

I’m recognizing that words mean more in times of insecurity. Encouragement hits home deeper, but also hearing words that hurt not just myself but other people feel more violent, more intrusive. This has been a year of words thrown around carelessly, and also, of words calling it out. I’ve heard more encouragement this year than many others, and it’s been needed.

I’ve cried over more books this year. Because I’m more aware of my calling as a writer and an artist, seeing movies about those crafts and reading books that have been well crafted, or have been a commentary on the imporance of them, have made we weep more than any other year. It could also be the lack of sleep and added latent stress, who’s counting? I watched Stranger Than Fiction the other day and it reminded me that the first time I watched this movie and listened to Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character describe how she pivoted from wanting to change the world through being a lawyer to changing it through baking cookies, it changed forever how I viewed vocation. This simple scene had hit me years before, and hit me afresh even deeper after this year’s stress and disappointment. Her words carried more weight and I cried because again I realized that it’s not just the jobs that require the diplomas and niche skill sets and talent and knowledge that will keep the world turning, it is also the ones that keep art, music, food, community, and creation alive that will sustain and save. The bread makers. The postal workers. The town chamber presidents and the council secretaries. The water colourists and the jewellers.

The Bible says work because your boss is really God, do it all for the pleasure of pleasing Him, in essence. This verse talks about a specific group of people in the ancient world, but we can apply the heart of it to whatever job we have today, whether it’s changing a diaper or crafting a contract in a boardroom or creating a flyer for a small business.

“Bondservants, obey in everything those who are your earthly masters, not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but with sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord. Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”

‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3:22-24‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m trying to remember to weigh my words before sending them out into the world, and also remember that the work I do has weight just like any other contribution, even if it’s just adding beauty to the world directly around me. It is all giving life. I hope these words weigh gently, like a pebble in your hand to remind you of something, rather than a boulder you have to carry. That what you do has worth and God weighs it differently than the world does. That what you say has weight, and finding the right words are more important now than ever. Take heart, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I stopped writing when my Mom got sick with cancer my last few years of high school. Looking back, I realize that it was one more way I tried to compartmentalize, that I wasn’t prepared to and didn’t want to process the loss, or my failures and selfishness during her illness. This approach, shockingly, did not help me grow anything but an unhealthy anxiety and mild depression as well.

Fast forward two or three years, nothing had really changed, and Andrew and my fledgling marriage hiccups were enough to deal with anyway. While our struggles were very typical for most Christian newlyweds, such as awkwardly transitioning from not having sex and actively trying to avoid anything to do with it, to switching our brains to trying to see it as a freedom and a blessing (gee, thanks, purity culture), to me they were monumental and I felt so alone in them. Money was also tight as we were both babies in our fields, just getting into the swing of this career thing, while paying off student loans. Also we had a cat we couldn’t afford to get fixed that was VIOLENTLY and loudly amorous, which our apartment building neighbours I am SURE loved, and brought me no end of embarrassment and discomfort in my own home. We were living what I didn’t then realize was an enneagram four’s worst possible nightmare: misunderstood, with no one who truly knew what I was going through, with no time or energy for any creative outlet, living surrounded by scads of strangers (some hostile) in a concrete box.

Through this whole period of our first year or two, I had told myself that a) our struggles were private and b) unique and we shouldn’t be failing in these ways, so best to keep up a good front, because no one was going to understand or be able to relate or empathize. Worse, that they would think we just weren’t spiritual or godly enough to handle these hurdles.

It took me eight years and a panic attack in a friend’s garage a few weeks after giving birth to my second child, our son, to have that eureka moment and realize that I hadn’t been lazy, or backsliding, or “adulting” wrong the last ten years. I’d simply been trying to pull myself out from under the weight of the trauma of my Mom dying, a new marriage that I didn’t realize I’d been bringing so much baggage into, and a few other bumps and bruises emotionally and socially along the way ALL WITHOUT realizing that I’d been fighting anxiety and depression and most likely mild PTSD to boot. And trying to do it all alone.

The first steps? Taking it all to Jesus and laying it all out and saying ENOUGH, I can’t manage this all, might you step in? (To which He cracked his knuckles and went to work, but not on my circumstances: on my HEART). I started asking for help. Just with dishes. Or a meal. Or babysitting for free. Allowing people to serve ME without feeling guilty for accepting. Not flinging myself through every emotion as fast as I could and just “getting on with it”. Sitting awhile in mourning, ACTUAL mourning.

I remember distinctly that I barely cried at all at my Mom’s funeral, that I went through the entire day just trying to remember to say the right thing, panicking I wouldn’t remember someone’s name, and actively trying to process everyone’s grief but my own, and making sure to keep it together so no one else felt put out or embarrassed. I was outside myself, exhausting my introvert self to the point of complete breakdown. I was terrified I would show some emotion the people around me wouldn’t be able handle. I loathed creating an awkward situation.

In the following months, I twisted my soul into pretzels trying to be ok for my Dad (who was actively seeking therapy for depression: I decided one of us struggling was enough, and hid my own angst) and for my younger brother, who had his own grief to work through and I figured, was worse off than me. I pushed my own soul away, resisted anything that looked like weakness, just “kept calm and carried on” and meanwhile, my heart was just shrinking.

If this sounds like your story, the most freeing thing I can offer is that you are not even remotely alone, and that it will be less exhausting to find someone to talk to than it will to keep pushing things down and just doing the next most urgent thing on your list. It took me over ten years to realize that I didn’t handle grief well, I didn’t handle it at ALL, didn’t let it in, didn’t let it do its work. Jesus kept sitting down and offering me a hand to come sit down next to him, and I kept running on past Him with the excuse that I had jobs to do and other people to serve. His frustrated sighs must have shaken Heaven.

I’ve learned since to slow down. To have the awkward, emotional conversations. To say no. To say yes. To find how I communicate (hint, it’s not audible conversations, it’s in writing). That when a memory comes, if it feels shameful, to talk about it. To write about it. To take away its power. Confession is freeing. The only one who accuses us of something we’ve dealt with with God already is Satan. And Jesus keeps shutting him down.

There are so many layers to my story and I haven’t hit the end of what it looks like to truly process completely all the events and emotions in my life, but here’s a start. Here’s an honest look not to make myself look good (spoiler: there are many parts that make me look anything but) but to resonate with someone out there reading this that needs to know they aren’t alone. I want you to know relationships are messy and two-sided and grow in fits and starts and there is seldom a clear line between protagonist/antagonist in any story.

The hope I offer is that the Master Weaver is great at untangling threads that are so tightly knotted you can’t tell where on ends and the other begins. Hand him your mess. See what He shows you. “Learn the unforced rhythms of grace”: grace with others, and grace with yourself. Whatever you hand Him, He will never throw back in your face. He’ll transform your face to shine.

People say 2020 is a train wreck. Valid. It’s also been a year where the layer of subtle deception of the images people portray of themselves and the underbelly of much of society norms have been blown apart and exposed. So those who thought that 2020 would be, puns intended all over the place, visionary and clear, are partially right.

My word for this year is “abide”, and right now it’s showing up in how I’m abiding in the pain and horror and conversations and knowing the next steps of individual action as allies and accomplices to start making it a point to make being intentionally anti-racism in my own life. The Holy Spirit is convicting so many of this, and making us realize this needs to be on our radar more than it is. To know where it is subtly being played out in our communities. Our friendships. And beyond. Some will be called to speak into governments for the justice and reform needed. Some will only be called to teach their own children and their own heart. It is going to be a different fight for every one of us that were born into privilege, and it will never rival the fights and plights of those that are BIPOC and their families, but it is meaningful and needed.

This blog is mostly about introspection, about seeing God in creation, about developing our emotional and spiritual maturity, among other things, and this is one topic of systemic racism and all that it entails right now is one that hits all those points for me and is a turning point for my awareness. Humility is necessary. I’m thrown out of my comfort zone and have to toughen up my ego and at the same time soften my heart. I have to let myself be awkward or else I’ll never get from beginner to knowledgeable.

I read like a fish. So that is where I’m starting. Small encouragements here and on Instagram. Intentionally teaching about and celebrating other races and how they face equality issues to my children. Not being afraid of getting things wrong and having to back up, make awkward apologies, and starting again from where I messed up. And reading whatever I can get my hands on from those who are living these realities is a great start.

Currently Reading:
• Born a Crime by Trevor Noah
• Indigenous Canada (Online survey 12 week course offered by University of Alberta)

Currently Listening:
• Jo Saxton’s Tea Time on Instagram
• Latasha Morrison as a guest on Annie and Eddie Keep Talking podcast, and her Be The Bridge Podcast
• In The Light: The Podcast with Dr. Anita Phillips

Read Recently (on Race, or by BIPOC):
• Stolen Sisters by Emmanuelle Walter
• I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown
• Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
• Pride by Ibi Zoboi

Now On My TBR Pile:
• What Lies Between Us by Lucretia Carter Berry
• Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World by Osheta Moore
• Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad
• Chokehold: Policing Black Men by Paul Butler
• The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead
• White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo
• Righting Canada’s Wrongs: Residential Schools by Melanie Florence
• 21 Things You May Not Know About The Indian Act by Bob Joseph
• Be The Bridge: Pursuing God’s Heart for Racial Reconciliation by LaTasha Morrison
• United: Captured by God’s Vision for Diversity by Trillia J. Newbell
• The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone
• Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson
• The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin

In all the cacophony of the last few weeks, with so many people pushing back against #blacklivesmatter for a variety of reasons, even certain “Christian” groups, it was overwhelming to me and exhausting to know how to respond in my own heart. It seems there can be no changing anyone’s mind, even though it’s harder to prove a negative than a positive, there seem to continue to be people who are invested in proving that racism isn’t a widespread problem, despite avalanches of eyewitness and historic proof to the contrary.

Then a book hit me. This often happens: volumes I’ve read and tucked away into my subconscious fly out of my internal bookshelves at my head at seemingly weird times, and I have to dig to get to why my brain is making that connection.

This connection involved a pessimistic, pragmatic Marshwiggle. These creatures were notorious for keeping to themselves, not being political, just staying in their bubbles and expecting the worst. One of these creatures goes on such an epic quest that in the most dramatic monologue of the entire book, he challenges an entire realm, even while retaining his pessimistic and sometimes irritatingly prosaic tone.

It brought me to tears when I went back and read the entire quote that my brain had reminded me about.

While trapped in the Underlands in C. S. Lewis’ book, The Silver Chair, part of the Chronicles of Narnia, the evil queen who rules there uses her own brand of logic and some chemical witchcraft to convince the heroes that the home of the Prince they are trying to save, the great lion Aslan who sent them there, and even the sun itself, are myths that they made up in their heads. She cites their own recent experience (no sun shines in the caves of Underland, she’s never heard of a lion, they must be thinking of a cat and imagining a bigger one, the idea of any realm beyond her own is laughable, where is it? They can’t see it, it must not exist… even though by this point we know she’s witnessed all of these things) and tries to lull them with a lullaby of lies, while making them so tired they don’t have the strength to argue. Puddleglum keeps his wits about him and stamps on her enchanted fire and makes this triumphant, glorious statement that even if all she claims is true, and they’ve made up Narnia and the sun and Aslan:

“…in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnia as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia…”

There is no downside to desiring justice. The question of systemic racism existing or not, or whether the argument is being exploited by one political camp or another, does not change the fact that police should not be using excessive force. That schools should be equally funded no matter where someone lives. That the prison system is flawed. That the symptoms of crime and violence and poverty are just the result of a problem in the system.

There is no political stance in showing compassion. Basic humanity demands equality. Denial of systemic racism doesn’t excuse you from dealing with the inequalities around you, regardless of what you think the cause is. Especially for those of us who claim to be followers of Christ, we do not get to pick and choose who we show compassion and help to, and numerous times in the Bible we are commanded to show specific love and practical help to those on the outskirts that have no options and no advocates. Those who cry out for relief should be more worthy of our attention than those who from a place of comfort refuse to entertain even the possibility of a problem. Fear and pride and complacence say “I refuse to even explore the possibility that there is a problem, I refuse to investigate or listen at all. I am comfortable. I am lukewarm.”

Continue to listen.

Continue to learn.

Don’t just search for voices that will let you be comfortable and affirm your illusion of any innocence.

If we reject discomfort we run the very real risk of being the lukewarm Christians that Revelations warns against.

Be willing to face possibilities of being part of a bigger problem. Wrestle with it.

Sit with those who mourn. Listen to the reasons behind the rage, don’t just condemn emotion expressed badly.

Pray for wisdom and discernment, and don’t just throw everyone who disagrees with you under the umbrella of “persecution”. Paul warns not to play the victim if our own actions have brought us under scrutiny, that not all opposition is because we claim Jesus, some will be because we act selfishly and call it righteousness.

Revival means repentance first. If we are truly believers, we understand that there will constantly be ways we will discover we are wrong, that God will bring to our hearts at the right time, and we need to rely on him to give us the strength to humbly admit wrong, and turn the other way, so we are free to love others in truth.

Freedom will not be found in grasping to keep control and acting out of our fear.

“The truth will set you free…” “…but not until it’s finished with you”

– John 8:31 & David Foster Wallace