Church

What if prayers were conversations with loved ones that God was present for?

What if children's ministry was taking my own children tobogganing on a sunny snow covered Sunday?

What if community involvement was becoming a "volleyball mom?"

What if charity was opening up my home and allowing people to disarm over coffee or a meal?

What if the kitchen sink was my alter, my iPhone my worship band and the tears I shed there my offering?

***

What if the paycheck is nothing but the deposits we collect cannot be measured?

Is that faith?

How do you live in today's world with interest on the rise and be generous?

What if not doing church brings you the peace and stillness of God?

Can church ever be low-anxiety for a pastor's wife?

***

What if we exchanged church oppression for freedom in Jesus?

What if God was more sovereign than we give Him credit for...

and we substituted our lists of needs and wants for love?

What if that prayer for love involved unfair pain and suffering here on Earth?

What if...?

Spaces

The clutter in my space

Means clutter in my mind

I can't think straight

Until I find a path through

Dishwasher needs emptying

Kitchen sink overflowing

More cups on bedroom dressers

Than in the cupboard

Eight laundry bins brimming

Clothes waiting to be washed and worn

Those draped over the floor

A marsh to wade through

Endless cycles of

Wash, rinse, repeat

Spaces that collect 

But never seem to empty

Scattered Legos

Rolling beads

Forgotten glue guns

Oozing glue on the floor

Children who need

A space to play

Rules of tradition

Attempted and failed

Pick up when you are finished

They are never done

Time to clean up

Battles and whining prevail

The clutter in my space

Means clutter in my mind

I can't think straight

Until I find a path through

Empty desktop at work

Clear space and clear mind

Some think spread out

But not me.

Good Child

Can the good child come over?

Can she play? 

Can the good child help?

Everybody loves her.

No one wants me. 

She gets straight As.

She makes sports teams. 

Runs, jumps, leaps high. 

Everybody loves her. 

No one wants me. 

If they don't want me. 

I don't want them. 

 *** 

Can the good child come over?

Can she play?

Can the good child help?

I hope mom and dad say, "Yes."

They're too busy for me.

I must not make a mistake.

They have enough on their plates.

I need to run, run away.

Everybody loves her.

No one wants me.

If they don't want me.

I don't want them.

***

My dear children, you are both good.

Your worth is not measured

In the invitations or attention you receive.

Do not keep score.

Neither one of you more.

Mistakes will be made,

Parent and child alike.

One of you runs

The other skips to a beat.

It is not a race to be won.

You are wanted.

You are loved.

***

This poem catalogues some of the complex feelings we have been navigating as a family as one child gets invites and the unintentional hurt felt by the child that doesn't. It is not any one individual. Some children require more TLC and we have watched this develop over years. When the sum of the invites is considered, the result is unintentional exclusion. I don't have an answer, so I don't expect others to have one either. However, sometimes we must decline invites and just be a family, where everyone is accepted and feels wanted.

To 15 years!

August 2022

Happy 15th Anniversary, Chris! When we are old we will read this blog to remember the years the highlights occurred, rather than arguing about when they happened.

To the last five years. As I reflect, they were not easy ones. Readers, if you didn’t read about the first 10 years, click the link below, if it suits you. If you don’t like to read, but want to see us as teenagers, you can just look at the pictures.

10 Years and Counting

2018 - Life was pretty quiet publicly. The things I was going through I (still) can’t write about or publicly document, though I do have freedom to speak about these events more generally now. I refer to this as the year of trauma. In family life, we learned what it was like to have a child with a disability (not traumatic, but tough during an already stressful time) and navigated those diagnoses without a map and many therapy appointments to take up our spare time. Becoming an aunt and uncle again was the best news that year.

The one that keeps us laughing - 2018

2019 - My maternal grandmother, Gloria, struggled with her health and I spent a lot of time with her. I recovered from PTSD/burnout/anxiety/depression as a result of the aforementioned 2018 trauma. Chris “retired” from youth pastoring at Kingsview and went on to work part-time with a ministry called 2CBeyond. He helped run inflatables for churches in Northern Ontario. Chris had a pulmonary embolism and almost died Labour Day weekend that year. Thanks to West-Lincoln Memorial Hospital staff who saved his life that day. We began to live life on one-income for a stretch much longer than we originally planned. Calvary Church in Dunnville offered rest and healing.

Paris, ON, Swiss Chalet - 2019

2020 - We lost our friend, Peter, in January. Heaven is his home but our hearts (especially Chris’) still hurt regularly as a result of that loss. Chris had just received clearance to go back to work and the pandemic lockdown hit the next day. Chris lost his paternal grandfather, John, and maternal grandmother, Marion, at the start of the COVID-19 lockdown. We journeyed with Mountainside Church in Binbrook to learn about their church planting process and offered one another encouragement during the pandemic. After his 6-week stretch of being an employee of 2CBeyond, Chris then switched to volunteer his time on the board of the charity. He helped close down the ministry due to the pandemic. Using home equity, we purchased a cottage to renovate at Braeside Camp. Pipe dream achieved. A boy was finally born on the Whitley side, aunt and uncle again! I also let Chris take a shaver to my head and I feel this is worthy of mention.

Shaved hair, don't care, because, baby snuggles - 2020

2021 - I lost my maternal grandfather, Gord, to COVID. Online learning was the norm, for me as a teacher and for our kids. Life was challenging but we tackled it together. There were a lot of homework assignments and cottage renovations. We stopped Sunday church life and began living the vision of actively living our faith and loving all. We planted Way Church with the goal of one small group meeting regularly  to encourage the vision. Family life had rhythm again as the world slowly reopened and we had most Sundays “free” by the end of the year. I learned to love hockey, the Maple Leafs (you’re welcome, Chris) and, currently, suffer through endless Steve Dangle podcasts.

Ice Dogs - 2021

2022 - Way Church gained momentum we added a service to the the roster on Thursday evenings. Chris and his friend use Inflatable Impact (a rebirth of 2CBeyond his friend invested in as a not-for-profit) to serve the community local to us and let them know the church is FOR them, not against them. Our kids live their best lives at Braeside while we renovate, in hopes of future relaxation, campfires and conversations with family and friends, and possibly rentals. One of our children fell in love with volleyball, one is still set on being an artist and the last, the family comedian. Hearts full.

One of my favs - 2021

P.S. - I am still teaching at Bellmoore and watching Grey's Anatomy!

On Church Hurt

***

What we say and how we say it affects others. The first time I remember being criticized was after a science project I misunderstood in Grade 6. I had worked tirelessly on the project, completing it to what I thought the expectations were. Last minute, they were clarified and I tried to remedy my misstep. I achieved a C. Later, my project was publicly torn apart by my teacher in front of the class. It took me a long time to recover from that scenario. Even helpful criticisms felt like an attack on my very existence for years after.

Another time, Chris had been rejected by a church (where we attended) for a job application. We were newly married, not ready to lead those more wiser than us, but we were passionate and full of energy. After the rejection, we decided it was time to take that energy elsewhere. A woman from the church showed up on our doorstep, not to counsel us, but to ream us out for our selfishness. In. Our. Own. Living. Room. We recovered more quickly from the job rejection than from the invasive shaming.

That was probably my first experience with church hurt.

Much hurt in our lives comes from the inability or unwillingness to think about how words, actions and inactions impact others. A difference that comes with church hurt (and perhaps hurt from people we love) is that we expect the people who have hurt us to know better. Factors like whether the hurt was intentional, whether the person was in a position of trusted leadership and the level of closeness to the relationship impact the depth of the wound.

I remember being at a conference and a broken-hearted mother asked the pastor leading the session what advice he had for reaching out to a family member who had been hurt by the church. The pastor's response involved the hurt person looking inward at their own attitudes. At first, I was satisfied with that answer because I know that we can only control our own thoughts, feelings and actions. The underlying assumption to the answer was that we are responsible for our own level of hurt, which is partially true.

As years have ticked on and my mind is drawn back to that moment, I am no longer satisfied with that answer. What is the church (the body, the group of people, the leaders who represent that body) doing to examine their own attitudes (words, actions and inactions) that have caused people hurt and doing to repair that damage? With a creed that fronts forgiveness and that no one is without need of it, where is the accountability? Jesus covers our sins, but our words are mere noise without integrity.

Practically, what does this look like?

I don't have that answer and it certainly isn't one size fits all. If we are hurt (and are struggling to let that hurt go) it might look like letting someone know we are hurt. A proxy might be necessary. People in relationships are not mind readers (at least not in my marriage!) From the church perspective, it might look like laying our pride aside and not apologizing for causing hurt (excusing rather than acknowledgment), but taking ownership and apologizing for the actions that caused the hurt.

When Chris and I argue, I like to have it out in the moment. Gloves off, go time, now! Chris likes space and time. While aggravating, space and time help. On the other hand, don't leave it too long or bitterness brews.

Forgiveness is the release of hurt. Reconciliation, on the other hand, is the act of healing a relationship. Key word: act. For relationships to work out after conflict, usually boundaries need to be discussed. I write only from lived experience, Dr. Henry Cloud has great material and is an expert. These subjects are massive and book upon book has been written.

While not my idea, but one of a friend I respect, planned exit interviews, might help healing in our churches, if we are open to criticism. Our roads of relationship merge and at other times, they diverge. That is life. When we see our diverged relationships at the grocery store are we going to hide behind the stack of pop cases or greet them with genuine care? Perhaps planning a conversation after conflict or the end of a season of ministry would help people heal and churches improve the health of their space.

The world watches how the church body treats each other, it is why many stay at an arm's length. We will all stumble, it’s how we walk afterward that speaks for our heart. When we hurt others, will we be sportsmanlike and help them back up or take our penalty with remorse? Or will we pridefully leave a wreck of relationships in our wake? Will we listen and ease their pain by risking some hurt of our own?

How can we build each other up when we disagree?

"There should be no schism in the body, but that the members should have the same care for one another. And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; or if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it." 1 Corinthians 12:25, 26

By remembering that in the body of believers diversity helps accomplish the purpose of loving God and loving others, it reminds me that I can accept people accomplishing the purpose in manner that is different or even in a way that I disagree with. It is not easy and it takes work.

Words like “Christian” and “church” are stale in mouths of many as people associate them with hurt and distrust. More often than I want to admit, I cringe at leaders or groups who represent my faith. Turning my attention inward is the answer.

"Do not let arrogance go to your head and despair to your heart; do not let compliments go to your head and criticisms to your heart; do not let success go to your head and failure to your heart." -- Roy T. Bennett

We can neither let the voices of others nor the failures we experience weigh us down. Instead we must lead with the repentance and forgiveness we long to see.

"So then, let us aim for harmony in the church and try to build each other up...you may believe there is nothing wrong with what you are doing, but keep it between yourself and God." -Romans 14:19, 22

Socks are Stocking Stuffers

We've been gathering for church on Wednesday evenings, twice monthly. We celebrated Christmas together this second week of December and won't meet again in an organized sense until the new year. There are six children under the age of 11 in our group. I had decided to buy a gift for each child for the Christmas party.

***

A few years back our church showed a video interviewing children about the worst gifts to receive at Christmas...socks was a frequent answer. Despite seeing this video, the message didn't sink in. I was probably distracted by some greater theme like, "Jesus is the reason for the season."

***

My autistic child wanted to be a wolf for Halloween. In the obsessed fashion that only she can pull off, she howled at every door so the person behind it would know she was a wolf, not a cat, even though she was wearing cat ears.

Naturally, when I saw a pair of socks with a fuzzy texture she would love and a wolf on them, I thought she would go bananas for them. The price and size of the gift were in line with the individual treasures I had picked for each of the other children to open at the church Christmas party. I purchased this "perfect" gift without a second thought.

***

Gift opening with autism is a tricky thing. Expectations are set and many autistics humans struggle with flexible thinking. What this means is if my child anticipates the gift to be something and it is not that something, the reaction will probably be less than flattering. We are working on that reaction. It is known as "the social fake" and it must be taught.

Guess what? My child was not expecting "grey fox socks" and did not appreciate a gift I actually put a lot of thought into. What was supposed to be a fun little gift turned into an evening of navigating emotions (my own included) toward this unexpected gift and her reaction toward it.

Eventually, some dancing lights I put on distracted and relaxed her. While the other kids danced around to Christmas tunes, she surprised me by saying she wanted to talk. We went into her bedroom and closed the door missing the goodbyes for the evening.

She worked through her feelings expressing that socks are "stocking stuffers" and should never be given as a Christmas gift. Why would I buy her "grey fox socks?" I shared the thought I put into the gift and my feelings.

***

I came home from work the following day to fuzzy feet loving her new pair of wolf grey fox socks. She gushed how they kept her feet warm and she grinned as she ran her fingers along the tops taking in the texture.

Sometimes neurodiverse people need time to appreciate a gift or adjust their expectations. If you give someone you love a gift this season and don't get the reaction you hope, remember not everyone has mastered the social fake and the genuine appreciation is worth the wait.

Oh and in case you didn't get the message, socks are stocking stuffers.

Hooky

 "I'm coming with a heart of worship

I'm bringing in a brand new song

I'm ready to see the unthinkable

I'm ready for a miracle

Hearts praying for fresh encounter

Souls looking to the living God

I'm ready for a real revival

O Holy Spirit"

-Patrick Mayberry

***

Sometimes I skip Sunday church. My only reason is that I am a Monday-to-Friday-working-full-time mom and the weekends are always too short, especially in December. I am an introvert who spends A LOT of time with people and children. I need time by myself to recharge. Often my alone time is spent dodging my children. Sitting in the kitchen, in the open, and music blaring is better than trying to hide. As soon as I hide, in their eyes, the game to find me and make demands begins.

This brings me to hiding from church from time to time. I am not talking about hiding from God. I am not talking about hiding from community. I am talking about literally the building and all it can entail. Church often makes me feel not good enough, especially when I am new. I have been "new" to a great number of churches in my time, not because I am not dedicated or committed, but because Chris (my husband) is a pastor. The feeling of inadequacy is not all bad, it's partially the point because this is why I need Jesus; to bridge the inadequacy, because He is enough and that is His gift.

I will always bring the bias of a pastor's wife to my writing and yet, I even have a problem with that, no one call's Chris the teacher's husband. When I think about church, I often think about clipboards awaiting my name to sign-up for things I don't want to do or things that won't progress my spiritual health. I am left with a heavy weight that unless I sign-up, I am not enough. The unspoken message of “you reap what you sow,” and so if it "isn't worth my time," the problem is my attitude. I am sometimes told this feeling in my gut is the Holy Spirit's conviction. Yet, I feel only manipulation to write my name down.

On the reverse side, I feel like an alien on a foreign planet. I don't know what is happening outside the walls or even where the clipboards are. Longing for connection or a desire to help I feel like I have to infiltrate a secret society. Isn't this supposed to be about loving God and serving Him together? Why do I feel so alone?

We must normalize that church participation is not an indicator of spiritual health. We correlate that good Christians go to church every Sunday, in many of the reformed denominations, you must go twice. For participation in church extra-curriculars to be healthy, participation must be birthed from a desire rather than coercion; just like a person's relationship with God. There is freedom in true love, not bondage. We must ask ourselves as church leaders, "what harm are we potentially causing?" to progress the cause of Christ.

And so, rather than going to church this morning, I wrote this blog, in between emptying the dishwasher, turning loads of laundry, and pausing, allowing music and the power of God to wash over me. This is church to me. My advent wreath sits on the table and awaits the family to gather around it, where my children will excitedly light candles and be active participants in their own faith story. My heart is full and ready to pour as I anticipate celebrating the birth of a child on whom my faith hinges. His manger cries echo the words, "You are enough, because I am..."

***

Disclaimer: these generalizations do not represent any particular church past or present. 

The Way We’ve Been and The Way We’re Going

Before COVID-19

I grew up in a United Church. In my last year of high school, I sacrificed being yearbook editor to serve on a committee at the church that was given the task of hiring the minister for the congregation. That minister, who I will call Pastor B, is still serving at my childhood church and I have much respect for him. Soon after his hire, I had a meeting with him where I expressed that my job was done and I was leaving the church to follow a path God put me on. To the outside world, it may have looked like I was chasing a boy (my now husband), in truth, I was chasing a deeper relationship with my Creator. Pastor B recently led my grandfather’s funeral. In conversation after the service, I felt the same support for my faith journey now as I did then.

Chris is my high school sweetheart. The boy I was chasing parallel to my chasing after God as a teen. We’ve been in ministry together since high school, so over 20 years. During this time Chris has been a lay pastor, usually without remuneration. We are grateful for a season of 5 years where working for the church also helped pay the bills and I was able to teach part-time and stay home to help raise our three daughters.

During our ministry, we have spent a lot of time in transition: helping churches during the season of a pastor leaving or our own shift to a new path. We are leaving our latest transition period behind. After “retiring” from youth ministry on a high point in the summer of 2019, Chris took a stepping stone to our next season of service. He joined a local mission organization whose commission was to serve Northern and local churches with carnival supplies (aka bouncy castle missions). This step was always temporary, but we felt it was the right one, as we weren’t ready to share what was further along the path with everyone.

Enter COVID-19

God foresaw Chris’ pulmonary embolism that fall as well as the COVID-19 pandemic. Both of these events caused the shift in plans of Chris being staff with the mission organization to serving on the board of trustees. He is currently helping the organization through a transition of its own.

COVID-19 had us be a part of three different church congregations where we healed, learned, refined a vision, and prepared for the next season of ministry. We are thankful to each of these community spaces who helped shaped the way forward for us.

During autumn 2020, we purchased a cottage at Braeside Camp believing this to be a part of what was next to come. At Braeside, we have watched our children’s health and faith turn around positively (and our sanity) after a difficult period of isolation that most of us suffered together apart during the pandemic. The campground has been a place of reflection and restoration in the 5 years we have been enjoying it. We hope for it to be a place of joy for family and friends in the years to come.

Teaching from home and vagrant churching saw me in desire of friendship without my regular in-person interactions. The second and third stages of the pandemic lockdown in Ontario left me void. Cue Alberta stirring our lives. Chris has been mentored by a national PAOC pastor from Alberta during the pandemic. The favourable contributions of someone 3000 km away floored me. Another mentor I have grown a respect for.

By what could only be God, I reconnected virtually with a friend from high school who also lives in Alberta. Weekly at 9:30 pm my time and 7:30 pm her time we defied logic, time, and space and in my mind, I began faithfully attending “church” again in the form of video and phone calls. If God can positively impact our lives beyond comprehension from Alberta, how much more can He do in our local communities? If a pastor’s wife can be void and broken, how many more out there are feeling the same thing?

Now

We don’t want to do the same thing we’ve always done in church. Listen, we love and respect the church as is, but we are all members of the same body with different roles…we are embracing our role. People are not projects that require saving. People need love without strings attached. Our lives are richer because faith is at the center and we want to share that journey with people, old and new. We want to share their journey whether we believe the same thing or not.

As Pastor B said to me at the end of my grandfather’s funeral: We can’t limit God to church. He can be found in nature or unconventional places. My grandfather wasn’t religious (I don’t call myself religious either but that is another blog altogether) but I believe He embraced God on our weekly phone calls and many visits. His faith journey was his own to travel and I was but a sojourner.

The way is often unconventional. The way often lacks walls. The way to the Father is through Jesus. But, this isn’t about making converts to Christianity. This is about being sojourners in a community of people, those who call Christianity their faith and those who don’t. I am dependent on God for my continued existence. We hope to see old and new faces as sojourners on our journey of a new (and yet old) way of doing church.

Adding God or church to our lives is not enough. Let’s meet Him where we are and watch Him multiply the love in our lives. As an old song in my childhood church says, “The church is not a building, the church is not a steeple, the church is not a resting place…the church is the people.”

Are we more concerned with our families attending church programs each week, or are we more concerned about them meeting with God each day? (Paraphrased from Barb Raveling’s Freedom from Emotional Eating, p.124, 2008)

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me…Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by the Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.”

-John14:6, 21

***

Stay tuned for more information about Way Groups: the way we will be doing church starting September 2021.

The Donut

Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I won a donut on Tim Horton's Roll Up the Rim promotion. Moments after the win, I had decided that I would give that donut to one of my daughters as a treat. Name, day, time, ready in my mind.

Fast forward to minutes before the surprise donut date with my daughter. I was met with yelling about how she hates to dance and did not want to go to her class that evening...or ever again. I managed to convince my daughter that dancing might help her feel better that evening. Once we were moving in the car, I explained how I had planned a surprise but her behaviour was making me consider holding the surprise back.

My daughter shyly replied, "I know I shouldn't change my behaviour to get something but because it is the right thing to do."

In these moments of parenting, I want to pull back and "teach a lesson" by not rewarding undesired behaviour. I have the following words posted on my fridge: "Sometimes it is not about reward or consequences. It is about love, family and relationship." The quote was a mantra I made up. At one point in time, I had nothing left to take away and removing everything did not change my children's behaviour.

As I pulled up to the drive-thru, I said to my child, "Sometimes it's about love, and while you might not deserve it, I am keeping the surprise as part of your night because I love you."

While my daughter cradled her donut in delight, she opened up about what was making her "have a bad day" and want to quit dance. It had nothing to do with dance. I was glad I made that moment about love rather than consequences.

***

My faith can be reduced to a donut. A moment made to be about love rather than consequences. As Easter approaches, I am thankful for a Father who loves me rather than keeps a list of my failings. I am thankful for a Son, Jesus, who took the pain of my sin on Himself when He died on the cross. I am thankful for the miracle of resurrection which seals my forgiveness and hope in heaven. When I wake each morning, I want to live better because of this love, not in order to earn it.

The sweetness of faith is that of an undeserved donut covered in icing and sprinkles.

And since it is through God’s kindness, then it is not by their good works. For in that case, God’s grace would not be what it really is—free and undeserved. -Romans 11:6, NLT

At the Feet...

This is me beating my friend out of work
for the first and only time in 2020!

At the start of each new year, I journal. Not about goals or resolutions. Instead, I look back at the year and highlight the themes and lessons that illuminate from my journaling the year prior. My journaling does not look like me in a Muskoka chair with a coffee overlooking a picturesque lake. It looks like me swigging an Iced Capp, holding my phone, often voice dictating and texting in the car before I step out into the parking lot at work. 2020 was the first year I started using the Bible App on my phone. I mean really using the Bible App. Even before the Bible App, my journaling was sometimes done in the same room as my kids' TV-watching.

Maybe you're the type of Christian that spends long hours in a closet praying or studying the Bible in a Muskoka chair with your morning coffee. I'm not. I am not saying this is wrong. I am saying it is not me. I am more likely to have a worship song stop me in my tracks while baking in the kitchen or to pray in the washroom at work (sorry for taking that extra minute folks). Sweet Jesus, give me patience now, why couldn't the person before me put the seat down!? I promise I don't pray in there when there is a line!

When I went back to look at my journal for 2020, I had written nothing. Great, 2020 yielded no fruit from my mediations with my Creator. I went into my Bible App to find notes, highlights and scripture images galore as well as 34 studies completed.

2019 was difficult and prepared me for 2020. In 2019, we left a loving church family during which time I struggled with my health and nearly lost my husband to a pulmonary embolism. If you know me, you've heard it before, but it was a life-changing year for us and as a result, that year shapes who we are today.

At the start of 2020 last year, I wrote down Haggai 2:9

‘The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house,’ says the Lord Almighty. ‘And in this place I will grant peace,’ declares the Lord Almighty.”

And Psalm 4, which I clung to in 2019, specifically verse 8:

In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord,
make me dwell in safety.

I learned how the power of practicing His Presence one moment at a time was sustaining. In the car. In the kitchen. During bedtime whisper moments with the kids. For us, 2020 was peaceful. I ended the year 2020 with a study on Martha and Mary and it spoke to me. Martha and Mary have different gifts, truth be told I am more like Martha checking off the to-do list. The Bible App has helped me sit at His feet a little longer and more often this year.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42

I've always been one to buy into the pretense that we should read from the paperbound Bible and pour over it with a highlighter in silence, creating holy moments. The truth is, do what allows you to sit at the feet of your Teacher.

I hope you'll consider joining me "at the feet of Jesus" in 2021. Look me up on the Bible App by YouVersion or join me on the Bible App Community I made on Facebook. I promise it is low key and you won't be inundated. In fact, we need some more action. My only goals are to progress in my faith and love on my world. Thanks to those of you that have been a part of my 2020 faith journey through this blog, the Facebook Group Bible App Community or on the Bible App, you are a part of my ever-growing church without walls. I hope to see some more family and friends in these spaces in 2021.

I will end with the scripture that spoke loudest in 2020 and pray that it continues to echo in me into 2021.

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  Ephesians 3:16-17

Sitcom

Picture courtesy of C. Berti, 2020.

At this point in my life, I love to bake and hate to cook. This doesn't bode well for my waistline. It means I eat my baking and I let my vegetable-avoiding, butter-loving husband cook most nights.

As I baked this morning, the words for a blog I've been longing to write began to form inside of me.

***

My mom often says, "Every family is dysfunctional to some degree."

That truth resonates with peace as dysfunction swirls around me.

Enter Schitt's Creek. If there is hope for the Rose family, there has to be hope for mine. The perfect imperfections of the characters are what make a person fall in love with them and invest in them throughout the series.

Segue to The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. A mom trying to make it as a comic in a man's world in the 1960s. An underdog father, trying to raise their kids while piloting a business with his "wife" on tour. I am thankful to the "Joel Maisels" of the world who have helped make it acceptable for fathers to cook and raise children as much as I am thankful for the "Midge Maisels" who have paved a path for working women.

The Maisel children are rarely with their parents. It begs the question...who is raising these children?

I often feel like that with my own children.

If David and Alexis can turn out okay, then so can the Maisel children, and so can mine.

Until that time, Midge Maisel has taught me the F-word and humour helps a lot.

***

I look up to my Father in heaven who is watching my sitcom unfold. As I curse under my breath, He hears a prayer from my heart. Whatever our struggle, He desires honesty. I know He is looking forward to the next season of episodes because He is invested in me and rooting for me.

***

Do you want to be counted wise, to build a reputation for wisdom? Here’s what you do: Live well, live wisely, live humbly. It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts. Mean-spirited ambition isn’t wisdom. Boasting that you are wise isn’t wisdom. Twisting the truth to make yourselves sound wise isn’t wisdom. It’s the furthest thing from wisdom—it’s animal cunning, devilish conniving. Whenever you’re trying to look better than others or get the better of others, things fall apart and everyone ends up at the others’ throats.

Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.

James 3:13-18 (The Message)

Church without Walls

This week my middle daughter began dance classes. Prior to this, the only "extra-curricular" my children have known have been swimming lessons and church. And, we had to be intentional to make time for swimming lessons.

Church has provided a loving culture for our children to learn about our faith, as well as explore their own giftings. One of our children will hard pass on the performance arts, while another child will now explore that in more depth. Thank you Christmas Musicals.

As I continue to write, hear that I value the church and its role, however, we must be careful not to allow church to limit Jesus, speaking both physically and metaphysically. I am unlikely to step into a bar. Some of my friends are unlikely to step into a church. People are not projects to fix or rescue. Barriers to differences must be overcome to build relationships. If the end goal is to get someone to attend church every Sunday, my friends, we have it wrong.

After months of not formally being connected to a specific church (in part due to COVID-19 and in part due to being between churches as a pastoring family), our family is reconnecting with a mission. Where is our relationship with the church headed...short-term? Long term?

Where does God want me to be? He wants me to be wherever I can build a relationship and love like He does. To teach in a public school. To cottage with family and friends. To take "the middle" to build her passion for dance. I am being challenged to reduce my involvement in church as an extra-curricular with events for each night of the week. Instead, I am making a commitment to represent my faith every day and to celebrate that faith with others who share it. This might not always happen in a church building or on a Sunday.

Wall-less.

Moving.

Evolving.

There is nothing wrong with meeting in a church building on Sunday, but there is also nothing wrong with going to dance class on Tuesday instead of volunteering for a church extra-curricular. If I might challenge one step further...what about going to a dance class on a Sunday morning and church on a Tuesday night?

"Just as you cannot understand the path of the wind or the mystery of a tiny baby growing in its mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the activity of God, who does all things. Plant your seed in the morning and keep busy all afternoon, for you don’t know if profit will come from one activity or another—or maybe both." Ecclesiastes 11:5-6

The Hallway

I trust a God who not only hears my prayers but also sees them. My prayers have evolved from willing the hand of God to move "my way" through spoken prayer to discovering an understanding of my present reality and His companionship in that reality with more listening.

A kind soul gave us a piece of art she had made with the name "El Roi" stitched in Braille as a Christmas gift. It means "the God Who Sees" in Hebrew. It sits as a prayer on our wall. A reminder that God sees us.

The name El Roi comes from the Old Testament in the Bible. Simplified, Hagar was a slave made pregnant by her master, Abram, because his wife could not bear a child. She was mistreated and ran away. The Bible doesn't say Hagar fell on her knees in prayer. It says the angel of the Lord found her in the wilderness and spoke to her.

"Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.” She also said, “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?” Genesis 16:13

This is the only time this name for God is used in the Bible. It appears again, once, in a different form, in Greek in the New Testament, after Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and entered Jerusalem riding a donkey.

"Jesus shouted to the crowds, “If you trust me, you are trusting not only me, but also God who sent me. For when you see me, you are seeing the one who sent me. I have come as a light to shine in this dark world, so that all who put their trust in me will no longer remain in the dark." John 12:44-46

Because I trust in Jesus, the Father sees me.

***

I have felt unseen. I want to be better at loving the unseen. The unspoken. In order to love the unspoken, one must first see them to know there is an unheard voice.

I remember attending a conference with my husband. The conference was promoted as a family-friendly event. I quickly realized that the event catered only to my husband's spiritual health and not his family's. The people I knew also attending, had other people. I had a baby. I spent most of the time alone in the hallway.

I wish I could say this was an isolated incident, but I have spent more time than I would like to admit alone in the hallway (often with babies) in churches. For a while, it bothered me. At some point, unseen people joined me. Others were alone in the hallway with me. I started talking to people. Praying with people. It dawned on me that while some of us were missing the sermon, church was still authentically happening.

The problem with catering to the majority is that people will be left out. I am not saying churches shouldn't make decisions based on the majority. I am saying churches could also make decisions with the unseen in mind, especially in the COVID season moving forward.

Saying, "Too bad for them," isn't loving. Assuming we know what others need isn't loving either. Asking what might they need and how we could help is loving.

My family is not attending church service, despite some churches opening-up. Truth: I don't want to be around large groups of people right now, especially indoors. More truth: I don't want to have to make children behave in church. Still more truth: children worship God differently than adults. After we finished the first Harry Potter book (gasp), the very first thing my children did was connect how the book related to their faith.

My husband is in a season of moving to a new pastoring role. That role is still shaping itself (for those who don't work in the church world, think self-employment and starting a business). As a result, I feel like I am back in that hallway again, but this time, I know I am not alone. We have had a few churches adopt us in this season. One church added us back on their mailing list. I didn't ask them to. Another included my children in their online children's ministry even though we had only visited once. A third dropped off a care package for my children with chips, snacks and sunglasses. The kids happily munched during our Friday family movie night, with sunglasses on, knowing they were loved by those people. Each of these was an act of love, seeing the unseen.

Churches, keep being creative and loving others. You don't need to save people, Jesus does that. Everybody needs to feel loved. If you are feeling unseen, join me in the hallway, I'll be here a while.

The Hollyhock

A year ago I was scrolling Facebook feeling guilty. Laden with recurring migraines, headaches, anxiety and depression (at the time unknowingly) I had very little energy. The energy I did have went to my children and getting through the day.

The box garden bed my husband had made me sat empty that year. The year it was built the bed was lush with cherry tomatoes and green peppers. Because it is better if you grow your own food, right? Because heaven forbid you rely on a grocery store or worse, feed your family a box of chicken nuggets! At least if you throw in some homegrown food with your chicken nuggets you might get an honorable mention at the non-existent parenting award show.

The summer of emptiness, I planted hope. I scattered some seeds with a prayer. A gesture of guilt from not being able to plant vegetables and be what social media feigns as a good summer mom. I have wanted hollyhock for as long as I can remember. This summer those seeds bloomed. They stand tall and proud. Strong and healthy. Like me.

Whatever you are sowing this season, may it reap joy. May effort not rob you of the beauty of simplicity. And, finally, may your definition of joy come from within and not a scroll.

It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow. The one who plants and the one who waters work together with the same purpose. And both will be rewarded for their own hard work. For we are both God’s workers. And you are God’s field. You are God’s building. 
-1 Corinthians 3:7-9 NLT

Isolation Baking

I'm more of a bake-from-a mix girl. I like simple recipes that don't require exotic ingredients. I've been waiting for a gluten-free base muffin recipe that doesn't let me down to fall into my lap. Gluten-free muffin mixes are expensive! This is one I am loving. It comes from GoGo Quinoa Hot Cereal of all places. So when our friends dropped off some gluten-free goods during our season of hardship (specifically Chris's pulmonary embolism), they actually gave us a gift to last a lifetime!

So far I have substituted different types of gluten-free flour mixes, substituted oats for the hot cereal mix, thrown in ground flax, chia seeds, sunflower seeds or chocolate chips. I haven't done a sugar substitute, yet. They turn out every time. Even if you double the recipe which is often a gluten-free no-no. Enjoy!

Gluten-Free Muffin Base Recipe

Gluten-Free S'more Krispie Squares

This one turned out too delicious not to share. It came about with some kitchen experimentation.

Use the basic gluten-free Rice Krispie recipe found on the box of cereal. Add a handful of chocolate chips and chopped Mi-Del Gluten-Free Ginger Snaps to the mix before spreading. Mix in well. Spread into the pan.

Then, melt chocolate chips. I melted them in the microwave using 30-second intervals and stirring so as not to burn the chocolate. Spread on top. I then crushed some of the cookies in a bag and sprinkled on top. Finally, I ended with a chocolate drizzle.

Yes, the waistlines are a little thicker over here so don't judge us as we emerge from isolation!

Reframe Every Thought

Last year I didn't finish the last two weeks of June with my class. My body had given up after fighting tremendous headaches for 6 weeks. I needed to take the last two weeks of school off to heal. My class deserved better. My family deserved better. I deserved better.

In the teaching world, warnings to not share private, personal information with employers or students are clear (including places like personal blogs and social media because of the ease of sharing). There is a line of professionalism drawn in the sand that must be upheld. Sharing could make you vulnerable to your employer. When privacy is expected, needed or wanted, discretion is necessary. Forced privacy is also dehumanizing. The perceived loss of voice and the inability to use it comes with the cost of guilt and shame. While I was unwell, I kept private out of fear of "the rules."

I lost finishing the year with my class. I worried about what parents and colleagues would think. I worried about not being healthy enough to return the following September. In all honesty, people were more concerned about my well-being than me not working those two weeks. This is not a post about worry, however, it is a post about freedom.

I began to grieve a summer that had not yet happened. All the things that I wouldn't be able to do or give my children. Wanting to be honest with someone, I started with my three daughters. I told them I didn't feel well and we wouldn't be able to do as much as we normally did that summer. I asked them to make me a list of all the things they wanted to do. Then, I could be honest about my capabilities and let them down gently.

To the left, is the list they made. They wanted to eat Fun Dip, play outside, do puzzles, play games, go on the iPad and help mom.

I closed the door to one of our bathrooms. As I sat on the floor, my tears of relief washed my worries away. I prayed in gratitude for my children who, in their simplicity, were beginning the healing process of my pain.

***

Over the past week, I have read COVID-19 posts about the school year not ending as expected. Teacher's posts about saying goodbye to their rooms. Students and their families lamenting lost graduations and celebrations.

Going through the unexpected ending last year has made the final chapters of the COVID-19 school year much easier for me. It's okay to feel the loss and to grieve. Not finishing the school year as I had expected caused me a lot of anxiety as a fairly well-adjusted (or so I'd like to think) adult. This doesn't mean every person will experience anxiety or disappointment with COVID-19, but it does mean it is a possibility.

That summer, I needed to adjust my expectations. Let me share with you some unhelpful thinking defences I learned in therapy. Automatic, unhelpful thoughts must be caught and reframed.

All or nothing thinking - I didn't finish the school year and, therefore, I am a failure.
Counterthought or reframe - I gave my students 38 weeks of my best and let them finish the last 2 weeks of the year without me. I had taught them how to be independent. They were capable of finishing the year without me while I took care of my health.

The shoulds - I should be able to create a social-media-worthy summer for all to see how great of a parent I am.
Counterthought or reframe - My kids want a simple summer. I can give them that. If I have nothing I want to share with the world that is okay. I didn't post anything about being pregnant with Josie on social media. The people who knew about the pregnancy without a social media announcement were the people who mattered.

Emotional reasoning - I feel shame and embarrassment about taking time for my health, therefore, I am a bad person. This is where forced privacy creates unhelpful thinking. It creates the thought it is bad to have a health issue.
Counterthought or reframe - I am a better mother and teacher when I am healthy. I am smart for taking the time to get healthy. I have a choice about what I share that is health-related and about what I keep private. This also relates to all or nothing thinking. I can share some information and keep some information private.

I don't know what expectations you need to adjust or what thoughts you need to reframe. I do know that we all need to make these adjustments.

One of my favourite worship songs is a declaration. A reframe of every thought.

I am a child of God. Yes, I am.
I am chosen, not forsaken.
I am who you say I am.

Jesus frees me of the burden of discretionary secrets I have to keep and lies I believe.

"We are human, but we don’t wage war as humans do. We use God’s mighty weapons, not worldly weapons, to knock down the strongholds of human reasoning and to destroy false arguments. We destroy every proud obstacle that keeps people from knowing God. We capture their rebellious thoughts and teach them to obey Christ." -2 Corinthians 10:3-5, NLT

Why not take a listen? While you are listening, see what that summer looked like after reframing it. Even though I didn't share it at the time, I choose to share it now.

Never Once by Joyce Sertic

I want you to meet my friend, Joyce. She is a diamond. Diamonds are not formed without heat and pressure from the Earth. If you have ever asked the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people, her story is for you." If you have asked, "Why do such people continue to believe in God, her story is for you." If you haven't asked any of these questions and want to get to know someone I am privileged to call my friend, her story is for you. Her husband, Peter, was a gem and a friend too. Their story belongs to God and she wrote this book from her journals as a tribute to Peter.

"This is my story. All true. Faced with many challenges, God has remained faithful and has given me purpose, joy and continues to provide all I have needed. All throughout my life's challenges, I decided to journal. So, many of these stories, comments and testimonies were taken right from my personal journal as I was walking some very dark and unknown situations. Through infertility struggles, fostering, adopting and my husband's very unexpected death 4 days before we became a forever family, God has remained faithful."

Joyce Sertic is from Canada.

***

Here is the trailer for her book, Never Once:

Click here for Trailer

Here is the link to online order form:

Click here for ordering information

The Face of a Panic Attack

One Year Ago, 2019

The Weekend Before Victoria Day Weekend

I had my mom take me to urgent care for stroke-like symptoms. Chris had been ill, in bed and out of commission himself. The doctor arrogantly brushed-off my symptoms as a reaction to antibiotics I was taking for a bladder infection. Knowing I would be alone Victoria day weekend, I took my passcode off my phone and taught my daughters how to use my phone in case of an emergency. It was to be Chris's final retreat as a youth pastor.

Victoria Day Weekend

Days felt like years.

Weekends on my own with the girls were commonplace having a husband as a youth pastor. This time was the last for a while and should have been the easiest. I had barely texted Chris. I didn't want him to worry about me.

Using the back door on Sunday night, Chris eased into the house. I forced myself off the couch and collapsed into his arms, crying. It was a defining moment for me. I was not okay. I began struggling with daily headaches and recurring migraines.

A Sunday between Victoria Day and Father's Day

June 2019

We were a party of friends crowded in a local ice cream parlour on a Sunday afternoon in June. It was ice cream weather. The picture to the right was taken of me in line waiting to order. It was taken during the onset of a panic attack. Mental health is invisible. I didn't know I was having a panic attack at the time.

Everyone was bustling in line and deciding on flavours. I started sweating. I lost my appetite and ability to focus. The room was closing in on me and I needed fresh air. My only goal was to last standing long enough not to puke or faint. I ordered nothing, leaving Chris with the icecream decisions for our family and ushered myself outside. I landed on a rock in time to suppress the sick feeling in my stomach from exiting.

With icecream eating finished, we began to walk. I tried to stay steady, focused on each dizzying step. Another picture. I chose to sit beside a friend who had been through medical-trauma while the group-selfie was orchestrated. It was a miracle he was alive. I drew strength from his smile that day. We landed at a park. The children ran off to play. I was praying mine didn't get kidnapped because that was the extent of my parenting capabilities at that moment.

I asked Chris to keep an eye on our girls. With my purse as a makeshift pillow, I lay under the shade of a massive hardwood. As I looked up through the leaves and branches crossing the sky, my friend shared a poem about seasons and trees. She murmured that we didn't have to talk. Her words eased me. I closed my eyes and started to settle back into my own body.

***

Days later. Another stroke-like migraine hit me. I could feel the numbness radiating up and down the left side of my body. Speech? Fine. Face? Fine. I ran through the symptoms of concern my doctor had reviewed with me. Migraine. My temporal veins throbbed with intensity. Advil. Bed. The next day, the doctor wrote me off work. I couldn't teach with out-of-control migraines, even if there were only two weeks left in the year. I had already been struggling for a month.

Father's Day Weekend

I shuffled dinner around my plate, forcing myself to eat for the second time that day. Every swallow was an effort. It was a repeat of the lunch I didn't eat. Earlier, my Greek salad existed to catch tears. I had broken down with two of my friends over the meal. It was my low. My unfinished Iced Capps was a warning sign to those who know me. The days that followed had moments where my heart was quaking in my chest. Chris and the girls would stroll ahead playing Pokemon-Go while I walked the panic attack off.

***

What was the cause? I don't have a concrete answer. Headaches, migraines and panic attacks were physical symptoms. I had anxiety about what was happening, maybe even depression. I was in weekly contact with my doctor at the time. After much reflection and therapy, there were physiological, emotional and trauma-induced factors. Stress wasn't the cause, but that didn't help.

What did I do to be well? I was in regular contact with my doctor. I meditated and prayed through the panic attacks. I breathed in the presence of God and out the anxiety. There were waves I had to let pass. I would excuse myself to the bathroom, talk to myself in the mirror and say, "You are okay. You are still you." I repeated the words until I believed them. I ate healthily and exercised to help prevent headaches and boost positive brain chemicals. I went to therapy. When I was on the road to recovery, an event triggered me to the point where I almost lost all my hard work. I then advocated for myself and asked my doctor for medication. Therapy allowed my brain to make sense of my story. Now, I write.

Why? The brain is a physical part of the body. I went through emotional trauma. Initially, it wasn't my own trauma. As a witness, I can't write about what isn't mine. My unwellness was trauma-induced. At least, in part. My brain was triggered into a physical state of protection. That's the physical explanation I worked out in therapy. I believe, there is also a spiritual one. At that moment in time, I was called to walk alongside victims of trauma. Sharing a part in their stories, I found myself impacted too. I fought for my health back. As a result, I can better understand the fight. We don't always get to choose what our brains do and how our bodies react. Sometimes trying harder doesn't work.

***

A devout life does bring wealth, but it’s the rich simplicity of being yourself before God. Since we entered the world penniless and will leave it penniless, if we have bread on the table and shoes on our feet, that’s enough...

Pursue a righteous life—a life of wonder, faith, love, steadiness, courtesy. Run hard and fast in the faith. Seize the eternal life, the life you were called to, the life you so fervently embraced in the presence of so many witnesses. -1 Timothy 6-8, 11-12 (The Message)

The Leather Pants

Photo by Jasmin Schreiber on Unsplash

To be honest, they aren't leather pants. They are pleather pants. Shiny rather than matted and thick. They sit at the back of my drawer and no longer fit. They are the pants that you keep in hopes of one-day fitting again.

***

One of my dearest friends was getting married. I had nothing to wear to her wedding. Even my go-to black dress was looking curtain-like on my body. You would think I would be happy about finally being skinny. I had lived my life before that time perpetually wanting to be 10 pounds lighter. I was 30 pounds less than my typical self.

I was avoiding most people. "You look fantastic!" was a common remark. I didn't feel fantastic. Eating was difficult. I had to force myself to chew and fuel my body. My appetite was non-existent. I could barely enjoy my favourite beverage (an Iced Capp) without it triggering a headache. I can't tell you what ailed me as it wasn't one thing. Just like what made me better wasn't one thing either. I can tell you, I would rather be slightly self-conscious with muffin tops than be thin and unwell again.

Each time someone relished in my supermodel state (skinny and miserable) it was a jab. I started avoiding people publicly unless it was necessary or I wanted to socialize. At my friend's wedding in between the ceremony and reception, I bought a pair of pleather pants. Not to wear at the wedding! I had wanted a piece of clothing that made me feel positive about myself.

My galactic pants made me feel like a rock star. When I had to fulfil obligations involving a party of people I wore my pleather pants. They made me feel alive and boosted my confidence. I have a robust social circle, all but a few felt like acquaintances at that time. I would put on my superhero pants and I was able to dodge the comments about my outside that didn't match my inside.

***

"Josie, we are going to have to get moving if we want to beat the rain," I commented before leaving for our walk.

COVID-19 distance teaching requires marathons of sitting. Barely-getting-1000-steps-a-day-type sitting. My-tail-bone-aches-sitting. At the end of the day, Chris has to press on my hips to relieve some of the pressure. The mini exercise trampoline I bought has helped me get my steps to 2000 at the end of a workday. Far from the goal of 8000-10,000, I should reach. I started walking too. Both of the 20-minute rural routes I take are 2500 steps.

Josie and I didn't beat the rain that day. While I towed Josette in the wagon, she blew bubbles into the drizzle. The droplets hitting my cheeks made me feel alive.

Feeling alive releases the chemicals my brain needs to feel well. Walking in the Earth's showers. Crying, while praying and doing the dishes at the kitchen sink. Lying in bed with my children, listening to Harry Potty on audiobook at bedtime. Lifting my hands in worship at church. Holding my Grandmother's hand, crooked but also wrinkled with love from her years. Sporting those pleather pants. Each of these acts awakes my sense of being.

When this isolation is over, I am going to remove the lonely pair of pleather pants at the back of my drawer and replace them with a pair that fit to celebrate my inside being in harmony with my outside.

The Cottage

My maternal grandmother with her father at the cottage in Severn Falls, Ontario
She was moved to a LTC facility just prior to the pandemic hitting our area

View from below the cliff
Thanks to my Aunt Kim for the pictures.

I would sit on my grandfather's knee, in front of the woodstove, while he told me the story of "The Three Little Pigs." I can hear his gravelly voice, "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." I remember playing Brown-Eyed Girl endlessly on the jukebox. The song would finish and I would press the sticky button to select that disc again. Both homes we have owned as adults have had train tracks behind them. Visitors often ask if the sound of the train near our home is irritating. I used lay on the top bunk at the cottage, window open, waiting for the train to pass and the sound of its whistle to signal it was time for the fresh forest air to lull me to sleep.

Raising a family has kept our bank accounts modest. Chris and I have traded off working and being the parent at home more than most couples I know. We know what it is like to live on less. Much of our home is secondhand furniture. We are regularly offered pieces family and friends are getting rid of. For a while, I felt embarrassed about my home. I would walk into the homes of others that could be on a page of a magazine. I felt like my home was a corner of Value Village.

Vacations over the past few years haven't been obtainable without the generosity of our friends sharing their cottage with us. My grandparent's northern nook was settled on a hill amidst neighbouring trees and overlooked the lake. Our friend's small-town, campground cottage, with a pool, has brought us an equal amount of joy and memories as the northern nook that is no longer in the family. So much so, last year we almost bought a cottage on the campground.

Purchasing a cottage was a fun thought to entertain. Ultimately, we decided against the decision. Chris had recently quit his job to start a new one and it didn't feel wise. Moreso, I realized how many dreams we might have realized with our own home if we made that the financial priority. I mean, we have never owned a new living room set.

That same summer I had been unwell with migraines, hormonal fluctuations and stress which caused anxiety. Not causal nervousness. Not worry. Real brain-chemical depletion, living-in-a-fog, unable to focus, palpitations-like-a-heart-attack, anxiety. For all the Christians who do not understand mental health, I wasn't under a demonic attack. I was in regular contact with a doctor: I tried eating healthy and exercising and I lost 30 pounds, 25 of which I have put back on. I tried prayer and meditation, naturopathy and essential oils. Prayer led me to therapy and medication, and I am now well.

I had spent a lot of time alone, retreated from society, learning how to be well in my body, mind and spirit. It was then, I was enlightened to discover that my home wasn't a corner in Value Village, it was a cottage. My oasis.

My season of health issues happened as Chris left his job as youth pastor, which meant leaving our church community. I felt alone, misunderstood and like few people saw me, including God. We had left our church in a blaze of blessing and glory and my health was disintegrating. Soon after, our lives would continue to fall into pieces in a manner that differed from the plans we had for ourselves. I had thought the disintegration of our lives was over, then COVID-19.

***

My goal this school year was to not bring work home, except for during report card season. In the fall, I would eat dinner out once a month, by myself buried in piles of marking. I needed to separate the work from my cottage. My safe place. My place of wholesomeness and healing. Then, COVID-19. Really? The boundaries I set were working.

"Mom, you're always on the computer, now," Addisyn complains.

This is why I wasn't bringing work home. I am a workaholic. It is an inherited trait. I struggle with being present and getting my priorities straight. I love the cottage, my priorities are always straight there. There are challenges in working from home. When I am home, my kids often have my attention, they aren't used to seeing me work all the time.

"I hate this!!!" Addisyn yells as I hold her whimpering soul. She is tense, hot and growling. I pray for peace to replace her anger. For understanding to replace her confusion and frustration. Being around her sisters 24/7 is difficult for her. She thrives in school and with her friends. She feels alone, misunderstood and unseen.

We talk about how her room could be a safe place if she needs it to be. She scoffs that she hates her room and wants to run away.

I think that's how I felt about wanting a cottage. An escape to run away to. I realized I needed to bring the content of a cottage to my own life and home. It is not where you dwell, but who dwells with you. I hold Addisyn until her body finishes shaking in anger, my eyes welling, just like God holds me when I flail at the throws of life.

"I can never escape from your Spirit!
I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
if I go down to the grave, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me
and the light around me to become night—
but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day.
Darkness and light are the same to you."

-Psalm 139:6-12 (NLT)

Darkness and light are the same to you, Jesus. We are not excused from the dark hours of life. I thank you, Holy Spirit, that you are the cottage that dwells in me. The arms that hold the flailing child and bring light to the dark. Today, I pray for everyone who finds themselves in darkness. For those whose homes do not represent a safe place. I pray for the abused, the neglected, the hungry, the lonely and the hurting. Give their souls and spirits shelter in You and bring aid through people, that they would feel Your arms and know Your eyes are welling. Amen.