29 March 2009
17 March 2009
01 March 2009
Dan's song
Tonight, for the second time in two weeks, I surprised myself (and my spouse and neighbours) by offering to babysit once again. The three little Rempels were angels; the oldest had put herself to bed by the time I arrived (she does that when she's tired), the second was lying quietly in bed, enjoying his last sippy cup for the night, and the third nodded off later in the evening after a warm bottle of her favourite drink.
(Although I have known each of the Rempel children since birth, and obviously love them equally, this little newborn has completely stolen my heart.) Last week I tried to talk her mommy and daddy into leaving their baby behind when they went out on their date, but they chose to take her along; this week she and I stayed home together and enjoyed some (baby) girl time. I dealt with long-overdue correspondence; she gurgled and made soothing baby sounds and finally slept. (And no, I haven't been lulled into a false sense of peace by these brief babysitting experiences; I visit our neighbours frequently enough to be familiar with the trio's top decibels.)
An incident that moved me to tears occurred when my charges' mommy and daddy came home after their coffee date. Dan's best friend also popped by, and Andrea asked her hubby to sing their wedding song for the four of us. Although he was reluctant at first, he finally agreed, warning us that he had been only twenty-one when he wrote it for his bride.
Well.
I cried through the entire rendition (I think Andrea did, too). It was the loveliest wedding song I'd heard in years—possibly since our own wedding day, fourteen years ago—and Dan’s lyrics affected me profoundly. What struck me was that this young composer had no idea at the time how his life would unfold, and his wife admitted the words were even more real to her now than then. Dan sang of storms to come, and of his commitment to his new family, and of the sword of hope to be found in Christ ...
In the past four years, their household has been blessed with the births of four children. One of these darlings has died, and the storms have raged. Yet here they stand: trusting in the healing and hope found only in their Creator. When their sorrows overwhelm them and they stumble and fall, they get up again. And again. God provides family and friends for the journey. His love reunites and gently carries them through each new season of pain, and growth, and victory.
Robin and I are proud of our young friends. They have lived such full lives already, and we look forward to growing old, old with them.
(Although I have known each of the Rempel children since birth, and obviously love them equally, this little newborn has completely stolen my heart.) Last week I tried to talk her mommy and daddy into leaving their baby behind when they went out on their date, but they chose to take her along; this week she and I stayed home together and enjoyed some (baby) girl time. I dealt with long-overdue correspondence; she gurgled and made soothing baby sounds and finally slept. (And no, I haven't been lulled into a false sense of peace by these brief babysitting experiences; I visit our neighbours frequently enough to be familiar with the trio's top decibels.)
An incident that moved me to tears occurred when my charges' mommy and daddy came home after their coffee date. Dan's best friend also popped by, and Andrea asked her hubby to sing their wedding song for the four of us. Although he was reluctant at first, he finally agreed, warning us that he had been only twenty-one when he wrote it for his bride.
Well.
I cried through the entire rendition (I think Andrea did, too). It was the loveliest wedding song I'd heard in years—possibly since our own wedding day, fourteen years ago—and Dan’s lyrics affected me profoundly. What struck me was that this young composer had no idea at the time how his life would unfold, and his wife admitted the words were even more real to her now than then. Dan sang of storms to come, and of his commitment to his new family, and of the sword of hope to be found in Christ ...
In the past four years, their household has been blessed with the births of four children. One of these darlings has died, and the storms have raged. Yet here they stand: trusting in the healing and hope found only in their Creator. When their sorrows overwhelm them and they stumble and fall, they get up again. And again. God provides family and friends for the journey. His love reunites and gently carries them through each new season of pain, and growth, and victory.
Robin and I are proud of our young friends. They have lived such full lives already, and we look forward to growing old, old with them.
22 February 2009
Late night thoughts on February 22
My neighbour celebrated his 28th birthday today, and on impulse I phoned his wife this morning and offered to babysit their kiddies if they wanted to go out tonight. (They did. I’m not sure who was more surprised by my offer: my friends, my spouse or myself! I seldom babysit for anyone. Never, in fact.)
I returned home about an hour ago and was preparing for bed when I felt the urge to capture a few thoughts about my day.
Thought #1: It is a privilege being part of a community of kindness.
Both here in Cochrane and at our church in Calgary, Robin and I are surrounded by people who care ... about us, about others, about God. We do not wish to take this for granted, ever. Some of our friends care passionately about the environment, or about education, or about instilling godly values in our children. Others care for those in prison, in hospital or in crisis. Still others care about the powerless, the marginalised, the oppressed, the forgotten. Several talented artists, writers and musicians inspire us by caring about beautiful images, stories and sounds. And I can think of at least half a dozen political and social justice activists in my circle of friends. At work my kingdom colleagues care about sharing Good News with anyone who has ears to hear. Personally, I care about words, and the power they carry for healing and encouragement.
Thought #2: I have been challenged to care for “the least of these” in a new way.
Today in church our youth pastor preached from Matthew 25, creatively using Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who by way of illustration. {Great job, Tom.} I will reflect further on his sermon; much food for thought.
Thought #3: Today I realised (or rather, remembered) that each of us has different dreams, callings and spiritual gifts.
During a recent London Fog-sharing visit with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, my gift was to encourage her in her calling (although for personal reasons I have chosen not to fully embrace her particular cause). I recognise that if I were to spend my time moping about not having a “worthy” enough occupation—in comparison to those of my eclectic range of loved ones—I’d fail to use the talents I have been given (biblically speaking). At least once every year or two I wade through this idiotic pool of comparison, and always, always, my life work seems insignificant during the exercise (a fruitless one, to say the least). But deep down I know my life is full and rich and good—and scandalously privileged. I see that.
I also believe I’m obeying my Father by using my inherent gift of encouragement to uplift the hearts of those around me—even though the effects cannot be measured, and no one’s life is saved because of my passion for sharing words of joy. But share I must. It’s as natural to me as breathing.
These were some of my thoughts on this wintry February night. Comments? Feel free to share your own passions/calling with me ...
I returned home about an hour ago and was preparing for bed when I felt the urge to capture a few thoughts about my day.
Thought #1: It is a privilege being part of a community of kindness.
Both here in Cochrane and at our church in Calgary, Robin and I are surrounded by people who care ... about us, about others, about God. We do not wish to take this for granted, ever. Some of our friends care passionately about the environment, or about education, or about instilling godly values in our children. Others care for those in prison, in hospital or in crisis. Still others care about the powerless, the marginalised, the oppressed, the forgotten. Several talented artists, writers and musicians inspire us by caring about beautiful images, stories and sounds. And I can think of at least half a dozen political and social justice activists in my circle of friends. At work my kingdom colleagues care about sharing Good News with anyone who has ears to hear. Personally, I care about words, and the power they carry for healing and encouragement.
Thought #2: I have been challenged to care for “the least of these” in a new way.
Today in church our youth pastor preached from Matthew 25, creatively using Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who by way of illustration. {Great job, Tom.} I will reflect further on his sermon; much food for thought.
Thought #3: Today I realised (or rather, remembered) that each of us has different dreams, callings and spiritual gifts.
During a recent London Fog-sharing visit with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, my gift was to encourage her in her calling (although for personal reasons I have chosen not to fully embrace her particular cause). I recognise that if I were to spend my time moping about not having a “worthy” enough occupation—in comparison to those of my eclectic range of loved ones—I’d fail to use the talents I have been given (biblically speaking). At least once every year or two I wade through this idiotic pool of comparison, and always, always, my life work seems insignificant during the exercise (a fruitless one, to say the least). But deep down I know my life is full and rich and good—and scandalously privileged. I see that.
I also believe I’m obeying my Father by using my inherent gift of encouragement to uplift the hearts of those around me—even though the effects cannot be measured, and no one’s life is saved because of my passion for sharing words of joy. But share I must. It’s as natural to me as breathing.
These were some of my thoughts on this wintry February night. Comments? Feel free to share your own passions/calling with me ...
28 January 2009
Good remembering
Today in chapel (Wed, Jan 28) my colleague Barry Nelson preached from 2 Peter 1. I'll type up some of my notes another day (perhaps even on another blog, since I've been thinking about starting to collect the cornucopia of ideas so many wise mentors share with me), but for now let me tell you about his title: "Good Remembering."
He reminded us to ... well, remember.
And I do remember.
I remember when we arrived in Canada in '98 and knew not a single soul in Alberta. Now we are surrounded by a community of kindness here in Cochrane, and Calgary, and Canada-wide. (Some days we even choose to field phonecalls because we receive too many for comfort.)
I remember when we owned not a stitch of furniture because our container had sunk in Hurricane Mitch, and our church family provided for us materially (and spiritually) in ways we still find hard to comprehend, a decade later.
I remember walking through the doors of Dalhousie Community Church and hearing "Shine, Jesus, shine" being sung -- a favourite of mine since our days at Bedfordview Methodist Church back in South Africa (where I began attending as a pre-teen, and walked down the aisle to marry my lifemate a dozen years later). We have been at home at DCC ever since -- and just last Sunday we sang "Shine, Jesus, shine" once again.
I remember every stranger in the church and wider community who treated us with warmth and affection when we were still aliens in their midst. Now we are friends. Those early friendships have matured and blossomed over the years, and we are in awe when we look back ... and remember.
I remember enrolling at the local Baptist seminary in 2000 (with the dubious blessing of my Mennonite pastor, who thought I would have a more heterogeneous experience in Fresno, CA; I reminded him I was from Johannesburg, and that a bit of Cochrane's homogeneity wouldn't harm me). I was a bit apprehensive at what a Master's degree in Divinity would entail, and I went out to King's Fold to make my final decision about whether or not to study full-time again (I had just completed a Master's degree in Linguistics in '97/'98 and was loathe to subject myself to further mental discipline). And now, nine years later, I'm still at the seminary, loving my job as an adjunct instructor, and working alongside the very mentors who guided me so patiently through many of my own spiritual and intellectual battles.
I remember meeting a special family at a dessert fellowship hosted by our new church. We chose to stay at DCC, and they chose to leave, but during that first meeting of the minds (and hearts) we bonded. Now we have been adopted into their extended family, comprising a Canadian mom and dad, three sisters and three brothers (roughly our ages), and an assortment of children we've known since birth. We have the privilege of spending special occasions together as a family, and not a month goes by without one of us celebrating a birthday or sacred event. Tomorrow R and I will join two of our family/friends for a Chinese meal in Calgary, in celebration of our Jan 25 and Feb 2 birthdays.
I remember when the hippo and unicorn book was a mere dream in 2004, and now I've sold the 250 copies I set out to sell (and give away!). And my new dream is to write on my own -- a book a year, lofty as that goal seems at present. I will cherish this dream, and work a bit each day to turn it into a reality. And I will remember.
{Thanks, Barry N, for your timely reminder today in chapel.}
Let us remember, and give thanks.
He reminded us to ... well, remember.
And I do remember.
I remember when we arrived in Canada in '98 and knew not a single soul in Alberta. Now we are surrounded by a community of kindness here in Cochrane, and Calgary, and Canada-wide. (Some days we even choose to field phonecalls because we receive too many for comfort.)
I remember when we owned not a stitch of furniture because our container had sunk in Hurricane Mitch, and our church family provided for us materially (and spiritually) in ways we still find hard to comprehend, a decade later.
I remember walking through the doors of Dalhousie Community Church and hearing "Shine, Jesus, shine" being sung -- a favourite of mine since our days at Bedfordview Methodist Church back in South Africa (where I began attending as a pre-teen, and walked down the aisle to marry my lifemate a dozen years later). We have been at home at DCC ever since -- and just last Sunday we sang "Shine, Jesus, shine" once again.
I remember every stranger in the church and wider community who treated us with warmth and affection when we were still aliens in their midst. Now we are friends. Those early friendships have matured and blossomed over the years, and we are in awe when we look back ... and remember.
I remember enrolling at the local Baptist seminary in 2000 (with the dubious blessing of my Mennonite pastor, who thought I would have a more heterogeneous experience in Fresno, CA; I reminded him I was from Johannesburg, and that a bit of Cochrane's homogeneity wouldn't harm me). I was a bit apprehensive at what a Master's degree in Divinity would entail, and I went out to King's Fold to make my final decision about whether or not to study full-time again (I had just completed a Master's degree in Linguistics in '97/'98 and was loathe to subject myself to further mental discipline). And now, nine years later, I'm still at the seminary, loving my job as an adjunct instructor, and working alongside the very mentors who guided me so patiently through many of my own spiritual and intellectual battles.
I remember meeting a special family at a dessert fellowship hosted by our new church. We chose to stay at DCC, and they chose to leave, but during that first meeting of the minds (and hearts) we bonded. Now we have been adopted into their extended family, comprising a Canadian mom and dad, three sisters and three brothers (roughly our ages), and an assortment of children we've known since birth. We have the privilege of spending special occasions together as a family, and not a month goes by without one of us celebrating a birthday or sacred event. Tomorrow R and I will join two of our family/friends for a Chinese meal in Calgary, in celebration of our Jan 25 and Feb 2 birthdays.
I remember when the hippo and unicorn book was a mere dream in 2004, and now I've sold the 250 copies I set out to sell (and give away!). And my new dream is to write on my own -- a book a year, lofty as that goal seems at present. I will cherish this dream, and work a bit each day to turn it into a reality. And I will remember.
{Thanks, Barry N, for your timely reminder today in chapel.}
Let us remember, and give thanks.
25 January 2009
Pre-birthday weekend
What a wonderful weekend I spent out at the King's Fold Retreat and Renewal Centre: words hardly seem adequate. The food was soul-satisfying, the fellowship sweet, and the teachings divine. Rob Low, a longtime friend of King's Fold, was our retreat leader; he used to work there full-time when I first visited what soon became one of my favourite sacred spaces in '99. (Now he and I enjoy monthly mini-retreats at Mount Saint Francis, a Catholic retreat centre closer to home.)
Because the New Year, New Life retreat took place so close to my birthday, I chose to stay in the Hideaway instead of the main lodge {with apologies to Dee}. The Hideaway is a tree house situated in the forest, a short distance from the chapel. I have been going there each year to celebrate my birthday in solitude and silence, but this year I may do something a bit different on Feb 2nd, so I combined the retreat and my annual tree-treat.
All in all, I was refreshed in body and spirit, and I returned home with my joy fully replenished. After a weekend away, I am more able to carry whatever life brings, and my hubby is gracious (and wise) enough to encourage my time away from the usual array of responsibilities (and burdens?) we both bear.
R has been suffering in his own spirit of late, and we trust that the darkness will lift in due course. Several factors in combination play a role; it's hard to find one specific trigger. But Tax Season cometh, and we both know that we need to be strong for the season ahead. I have noticed that his sadness is not affecting me as much this week as in bygone days; I am actually able to help him deal with his depression in ways I wasn't able to even a year ago, and that brings us hope. Despite the occasional poverty, life is rich and full and good. And our Creator is faithful. We have not been given more than we can bear, and in that we take comfort.
I am truly content during this pre-birthday week. This has been my best year to date ...
Because the New Year, New Life retreat took place so close to my birthday, I chose to stay in the Hideaway instead of the main lodge {with apologies to Dee}. The Hideaway is a tree house situated in the forest, a short distance from the chapel. I have been going there each year to celebrate my birthday in solitude and silence, but this year I may do something a bit different on Feb 2nd, so I combined the retreat and my annual tree-treat.
All in all, I was refreshed in body and spirit, and I returned home with my joy fully replenished. After a weekend away, I am more able to carry whatever life brings, and my hubby is gracious (and wise) enough to encourage my time away from the usual array of responsibilities (and burdens?) we both bear.
R has been suffering in his own spirit of late, and we trust that the darkness will lift in due course. Several factors in combination play a role; it's hard to find one specific trigger. But Tax Season cometh, and we both know that we need to be strong for the season ahead. I have noticed that his sadness is not affecting me as much this week as in bygone days; I am actually able to help him deal with his depression in ways I wasn't able to even a year ago, and that brings us hope. Despite the occasional poverty, life is rich and full and good. And our Creator is faithful. We have not been given more than we can bear, and in that we take comfort.
I am truly content during this pre-birthday week. This has been my best year to date ...
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