My Favourite Family

I lie here with toes outstretched on a friend's comfy bed in the wonderfully wild country of Belize, and I realize again the beauty of God's people. I look back over my life and the life of my family and see them show up in so many places. 

The men that brought their tractors to haul manure when my dad was lying in bed for six long dark months. The women that would pull me aside after church to ask how mom and our family were doing and if there was any way at all that they could help. The friends who sat and listened without offering a word of advice, simply presence. The pastors and their wives who showed up with anointing oil. The ladies who made casseroles in their kitchens for our freezers. The board members that were always ready to help in whatever way possible. The people who became adopted family simply because they cared that much, and the souls of wisdom who saw and understood just enough to go home and pray.

And now I sit here in Belize with the showers of blessing raining once more. Meals with laughter, beds for the taking, excursions to new places, great conversations, and a lot of love all around. I am finding people that talk about the help my parents gave them years ago when they were newbies in our old province of Ontario. They talk about meals and babysitting and a lot of love passed around, and now they jump at the chance to pass that kindness on to me. 

I see this beautiful cycle and am convinced that God's family is one of the best families on earth to belong to. It is one where we take turns to serve, and turns to receive. It is one where we show up for each other even when it is inconvenient. It is one where we get bumps and scratches and have misunderstandings just like any other family, and we must work them out in order to function. We talk things through, share ideas, live beside each others' shortcomings, and drink from the Fountain of Life together. 

At the end of the day, there's no family I'd rather belong to - this glorious family made out of imperfect people from all kinds of nations, who are gathered together under the perfect umbrella of Love.

How Fear Steals Us

I thought about that yellow coward

Grappling with its jaws.

It howls and yells

Threatens and curses,

Before shoving us deep under a mat where we lie dormant:

Away from life, 

Away from beauty, 

Away from potential, 

Away from radical existence.

We lie there in depression

Waiting for that panther to move. 

Staring at its gory power, but trapped angry inside.

Menacing, roaring, deceitful,

That coward will have you in the depths of nonexistence.

But, oh if you only knew my friend,

Fear has a chain.

That old cat is stuck tight to that floor with a bark worth far more than any bite.

So push your face at it and yell back.

Crawl out from under that rug into whole beauty,

And dare to live.

Say yes to the call that quivers inside your soul, waiting to be born.

Push past the accusations, false flattery, and gossip to new heights of achievement.

That old cat will scream at you, but leave it sobbing in its den.

Walk out the door and don't look back.

Let it howl and let it screech.

It never needed your sympathy or service anyway. 

You were born for more. You were born for such a time as this.

You'll find faith is true

On the other side of courage.

David said to Saul, “Let no one lose heart on account of this Philistine; your servant will go and fight him.” 1 Samuel 17:32

In Spite Of

I lie there snuggled close in the toasty gray of our fuzzy bean bag. I am safe and warm, and I feel the smile of Someone watching close overhead. 

I've looked at a myriad of bright lantern stars twinkling in the heavens and scanned for their patterns. I've lain under blue skies clouded with fluffy abandon and looked for shapes in the whiteness. I've heard thunderstorms pound incessantly and watched lightening scratch a jagged wound across the darkened sky like an angry sword. I've watched the shreds of soft sunlight filter gently through groves of poplar and spruce and stood there with tears filling my eyes. I've woken up like a child on Christmas morning to view the wildly colorful sunrise that my Creator painted in the early morning. (He could have picked brown you know.) 

And I have come to believe in Him soundly. People may call me crazy, or ridiculously optimistic. They may think I am a religious nut or someone gone completely off the deep end. But perhaps if they would see what I have, and understand what I do, they would also believe. 

You see, I have come to know a God in spite of pain. His presence has become more dear to me than any physical or mental strength ever could have been. His love is the kind that walks through any fire and outdoes any darkness. He shows up in the places that no one else can enter and understands the situations no one else can decipher. He is the kind of God who carries His children when they can't stumble forward anymore, and the kind of God who holds His children when the questions outweigh the answers a million to one. He is the One Who follows His prodigal to a thorn bush just to pull him out and gently dress his self-inflicted wounds. I hear Him cry in anguish over His people who walk away when He gave everything for them.

I know He is a God who redeems and restores the most broken of places. You see, He never avoided pain, even though He could have. In fact He walked right into it - on purpose - just because He loved us all. And as I lie in my bean bag memorizing the woolly threads before me, I know that He is here too. Pain is no longer to be avoided, but embraced. I am small and broken, but He is still strong and good. My soul thrills, and my aching brain clears, at the simple thought that He is here. I remember the nail prints in His hands, and understand the paradox of a deep heavy pain meshed with an aching heart of love. And the more pain I see, the more I feel my Saviour's heart. 

Perhaps I am odd. Perhaps I am different, but I have come to know a God who finds us in our dark places. He rejoices over us with singing and reminds us that we are His - always. And I rejoice in my fuzzy little corner, because I have found a God who is good, regardless of circumstances. I have tasted a Presence so true, I wouldn't trade it. I have found a truth so holy, I wouldn't deny it. I have found a love that nothing can uproot or undo. He is mine and I am His. ❤️

The River Still Runs...

A couple days ago, I was standing beside the tiny creek that runs through our property. It comes from somewhere up in the mountain, and during spring it is at its peak for pressure and beauty. I stared at the foaming water for awhile, feeling the sound, and watching the constant eddies swirl and turn. I noticed the jagged and mismatched trees that were left behind after some bull-dozing, and was a little disturbed by their insanity. They seemed to wreck the perfect image of nature before me with their scraggly reaching arms. But a picture came to my mind as I surveyed the scene. I looked at the strewn trees once more, and saw the destruction and ruin we can experience in life. They held a metaphor for the days when questions run deep and the answers are few. They showed the damage of unjust pain and the sheer misery of the things this cursed earth offers. 

Then, I looked down and noticed faith in the river. It danced in and out under the hanging branches, never threatened by their presence. It foamed over rocks and even created shallow pools of stillness along the river's edges. It never stopped and it never diminished. It just kept moving on its course. It had a destination and nothing would stop it. I knew too, that if I were to throw a branch into the moving current it would simply carry it along in a quiet victory. 

Perhaps this is us. When the days look long and things seem senseless, when the sky is dark and there seems to be more rain than blue sky, we simply must offer a tiny mustard seed of faith and see what our Lord does with it. Faith is quiet, but it is true. It can survive the news of another cancer diagnosis. It can live through an unjust and painful childhood. It can handle misunderstandings and mockery, and it can continue walking when the directions are given only a day at a time. Have faith. ❤️

The Jagged Way

I will praise my loving Saviour

Even though my heart is thick with pain,

When I'm walking through a valley

And the sky is ripe with rain.

All I see are thorns and thistles

Prodding in from every side.

Rocks and pebbles jar my pathway

Like the nagging doubts inside.

Joyful thoughts of yester's sunshine

Cloud their way into my gaze.

I remember them with envy

Seeing only darkened haze.

Cups of cheer turn into weeping

I can't hear the words of hope.

All I see is dark foreboding

Stealing every buoyant note.

Yet I lift my hands to silence

Trusting that He still is good.

Knowing that He's always held me,

Even in the deepest flood.

Maybe some day I will reason

All the trials into truth.

Seeing all my Master's purpose

And the beauty it produced.  

                           - C.H.

I May Have Begun to Like Dogs 🙄

I used to struggle with dogs. They seemed to be everyone else's favourite non-human except mine. I mean, I could handle chickens better. At least they stayed in their cages and produced eggs for my morning breakfast. I could be thankful for that, but I struggled mightily every time I walked out our front door cleanly dressed for school to find a muddy, scraggly belly rolled out in front of me for a rub. I mean, really?! Mocha didn't seem to get the fact that I was clean and had places to go. But, me trying to be good-natured and kind like I was supposed to, would begrudgingly find the cleanest spot in all that mud-infested fur and gingerly rub the toe of my shoe across it. After a brief minute, if that, I would retrieve my shoe back to myself and head off on my merry way to school. 

But then, some things changed. When I was in a lot of pain for a few weeks due to my knee injury, I would often find some place to lie completely flat. Since I am an outdoors person, I would pick places like the grassy front lawn, the porch swing, or even the solid deck floor. Then, something interesting happened. The dogs showed up. We have five on our property between all the family members and they would come over to see how I was faring. The first time, the three pups bounced all over me. Tumbling and bumbling completely oblivious to any pain it could be causing. My well-meaning siblings yelled at them, but they just wouldn't leave. Strange to think, since their was no strong attachment on my end. But they were puppies, and blissfully unaware of any rules of etiquette with hurt people. 

As the other two puppies finally listened and made their way over to my siblings, the third and most awkward and clumsy one, Waffles - yes you heard his name right, and no I definitely didn't pick it - climbed right up into the crook of my arm and laid there, belly-up, snuggling against me like an infant. Now I have never held such a hairy, snuffly baby in my life, but really, how can a person resist when a creature seems to think that you are one of the very best humans in the world and they have no other place they'd rather be than with you. I felt a little too much like the cantankerous grumpy Grinch who slowly got melted by acts of love from an innocent young child. Truly, it did melt some of my puppy prejudice and I began to see these wiggling creatures through slightly different eyes. 

Over the next few days, the puppies, my slowly becoming friends, would visit me whenever I chanced to make it a few steps outside the door. I remember one specific incidence where I was sprawled out on the porch steps with my blanket and the three puppies came to pay their respects. I lay there looking miserable and they mirrored the mood excellently. Carefully positioning themselves around me at various angles, they settled down to stare mournfully at me or off into the distance. I felt strangely akin to Job with his three friends sitting solemnly in the dust and misery. 

Now, it has been a few months since this tale happened, but I do believe I like dogs a little more than I used to. To the point that on our first snow day from school, I put on my snow gear and travelled out to the steps for a wild leap into a snow drift. As I landed with a poof of white powder, I felt a whole bunch of wriggling bodies join me in a tornado. And, it was hilarious! I giggled and tried to get them off of me and then we did it again - a couple times - until my knees had all they could handle and we went back to our Job-style positions in the snow bank. I sit and they sit. I think and they must be thinking too. I am silent and they are very still. 

So now, when I come home from school and get out of my red ride, my words go like this, "Hey Swaffles! Hey Oreo! What's up Shadow?" And they bounce around like the most delighted things. Perhaps we shall be friends after all.

Those Parents

I see them. They come to our classroom to visit and stand by their children's desks. Faithful fathers show up to bring devotions every Thursday. Moms pack school lunches and arrive at 3:30 to provide a ride home. They come in pairs and sit in two blue plastic chairs for our parent-teachers meeting. I talk to them after church sometimes, and they show up interested and delighted at school programs. 

I see them, and I know them. I know the way their hearts ache for their children who struggle. I hear the pain in their questions as they wonder how they can help. I hear them talk about prayer, and know there are many times where they wrestle over and over again. I also hear them talk about their failures and how they wish they could have done things differently. Sometimes I hear their song grow a little dim with discouragement and exhaustion, but I have hope. 

Hope, because I've seen many parents make it through tough seasons. I've seen teenagers come out of situations that could only be rescued by God's mercy. I've seen children mature when it looked impossible for them to arrive, and I've seen the light of God restore the most hopeless of people. 

I write this post simply to suggest that we ought to be more grateful for the ones who raised us. They have seen choppy water that our boats haven't reached yet. They are the ones pleading at heaven's gates, so that our boat can be guided by the same Master who led theirs. They are the ones trying to figure out when to give advice and when to hold their tongue. Sometimes they get it right and sometimes they get it wrong, but all they want is for us is to arrive safely and avoid some of the pitfalls they walked into.

Love your mom and dad, my friend. They aren't perfect. They've done things wrong. But they have enough love to fill a decent-sized ocean, and maybe some day when you are in their place, you'll come to realize the sacrifice, blood, sweat, and tears, that was put into your success. 

The Tech War

Steemit

This could be a scary and dangerous topic. Some of you are shutting your ears and walking the opposite direction right now because, as one of the men in our church would comment, I'm about to make your toes quite warm.

Perhaps that is true. But you see, this is more of a testimony than a sermon. Just lately, I went through a season where I was a lot more lax with technology—or more specifically social media—than I had been for awhile. A lot of it was because I was tired, and some was simply for a distraction, but I have learned a lot in the process. 

Number one, it wasn't completely worth it. Although I got some spiritual food out of some of the better channels, I got to a place where I was begging God for more of His Spirit. Mercifully, He showed me the importance of having enough quiet space in my mind for His Spirit to speak.

Second, I have come to see how easy it is to drown things out with whatever social media platform we pick. It's more fun to watch some funny guy make jokes online than to think about the fact that I feel unloved or hold anger towards someone in the deep recesses of my soul. 

A third thing I have discovered is that it is very easy for us as a generation to become lazy spiritual seekers. It's simpler to type a question into Google and find a pat answer from a variety of sources, than to actually take time to sit before God, search His Word, and hear His voice on the matter. The consequences of too much of this will be a generation of confused, anemic Christians who have only the opinions of others to stand upon.

Fourth, what you take in is what you think about. If I watch documentaries on trafficking, guess what my dreams are about! Now in no way am I downplaying that good movies can be beneficial. Neither can we avoid what is true, but I've found it essential to siphon what I put into my mind so that it remains lovely, pure, honest, and of good report. 

I have come to believe that just like many other things in life, social media and the internet is being monopolized by Satan as a subtle and crafty means to attack the Church of Jesus Christ. If he can't get us to believe untruth in outright lies, He'll bring it to us in sugar-coated entertainment. 

Each one must decide for himself, but as soldiers of the Cross of Christ, it is crucial to consider every single area that is open to attack. Even the strongest soldiers die in battle if they aren't alert and are missing some pieces of armour. 

Am I perfect? Absolutely not. I don’t have all the answers or have it altogether. As I told my students recently, I fight the war every day too. But perhaps this is an issue we need to start facing. Not in shame, not in fear, but in honesty and courage. Together.