Journey - not Destination

One of the most amazing trips I ever took was with my brand-new husband back in the summer of 1981.  We took three weeks and toured all over the Maritimes, even spent a week in the States.  We started with the Cabot Trail, toured the south shore of Nova Scotia, headed up through the Valley and up to Digby, crossed on the ferry to Saint John, visited with a couple of people there for a day, went to the summer camp where we first became a couple, stayed in that town for a week, then headed up to Houlton Me, crossed at Woodstock and took in King's Landing near Fredericton, traveled down to my home town (Sackville NB) and visited with my mom and dad overnight before heading to PEI to live.

I think it was the only time in my life up until that point, that I enjoyed the journey instead of asking, "Are we there yet?"  I loved the person I was with, enjoyed even the silences.  We stopped along the way to take in all the marvels of the scenery around us.  I still have the yellowed photos from those days.  (Bonus: it only rained 3 days out of those 3 weeks!!)

Most of the time I want to "skip to the end."  

I get impatient.  I want things to be the way they're "supposed" to be in the final product without being willing to go through the process it takes to get there.  

There is power in the process.  There is value in the journey.  Without it, how can I remember how I got from A to B, much less describe it to someone else who might need to get there?

True in traveling; true in life.

There is a promise that, the first time I heard it, I was confused by.  "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it."  Well.  There were lots of things in my past that I regretted.  You might be surprised at some of those things.  And the things I regret have changed over time.  When I was younger (say, 10 years younger), I regretted my rebellious youth. I could see no useful purpose that it served.  As my children grew into those years, I started to see the value in them.  I found that I could relate to their own confusion, to their feelings that parents are the dumbest animals on the planet.  

Up until about a year and a half ago, I regretted my growing up years. I was full of shame.  I wished that I had been brought up differently, that certain things had never happened to me.  Part of me still does regret it, still does wish I didn't have to go through the things that to this day occasionally haunt my dreams (although they don't nearly as much as they once did!)  The memories were painful; I didn't want to go there, and I wished it would all go away.  But I had started a journey of healing.  And soon I realized that God had brought me to this - allowed me to go through even the 'bad' stuff - for a very special and unique purpose.

I remember a message I heard once about "Moses' rod" - and I think that this bears repeating.  The very symbol of Moses' old life, of the failure he experienced in trying to deliver his people on his own and running away - only to become a shepherd on the back side of the desert for 40 years - was the very thing that God used to not only convince Moses that his life had purpose, but also earn him a hearing with the man who held his people captive. When God asked Moses to throw down his rod on the ground - and it became a snake - Moses was getting rid of all the baggage that accompanied what that rod represented to him: loss, failure, limits, guilt, and shame.  After he picked up the snake and it became a rod in his hand again, ever afterward Moses referred to that shepherd's staff as "the rod of God." God had become his shepherd; the rod was a constant reminder that God can use and transform anything or anyone.  

Even failures.


Today, I'm learning not to regret the past, not to want to shut the door on it.  Not so that I can return there myself, but so that I can see others suffering in that place and show them that there is a way out.  And along the way, I can truly enjoy the journey and trust that my Shepherd is by my side.

Run for the Rose

It was June 1973.  Triple Crown fever had edged north because finally, a race horse named Secretariat had a chance at winning the third jewel of the Crown: the Belmont Stakes.

He'd won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes by two and a half lengths each, breaking the track record for each race track.  Spirits were high as he entered the Belmont on June 9, 1973.

I remember watching the pre-race activities on TV with my dad.  Excitement was building.  As the great chestnut horse was warming up you could hear the noise level of the crowd increase.  He was up against only four other horses that day.

From the opening bell he knew what he was going to do - what he had done in the previous two races - take each quarter-mile faster than the last. But nobody expected what came that day - something that has not been equaled since.  The announcers were amazed, excited, and dumbstruck all at once!

Join the excitement of that race:




The announcers estimated a 25-length lead at the time of the race - which was in itself a never-before-seen lead.  But race analysts afterward calculated that Secretariat held a 31-length lead over Sham and the other horses racing that day.

When the lead started to open up on the back stretch, I remember leaning forward in my seat.  Finally I jumped to my feet as the camera panned back further and further to be able to keep all the horses in the viewfinder.  Even at my tender age of 12 years I knew I was watching history in the making!  I wanted to jump up and down and scream!

What a tremendous victory!  There was no question of who won that day, no photo finish to ponder over.  Secretariat had emerged the clear winner and earned his spot in the annals of history... just watching the race footage brings back the thrill of that day. 

It kind of reminds me (in small measure) of the victory Jesus won over sin, death, and hell - a perfect trifectate if there ever was one!  He emerged from the tomb, the Victor, from the dark domain.  He conquered the enemy of our souls and He invites us to join in the celebration!

If that's not something to jump up and down about - I don't know what is!

Loving God, Loving Each Other

There's an old Gaither song that goes, "Loving God, loving each other, making music with my friends...loving God, loving each other, and the story never ends."

If I had to choose a social activity I enjoy the most, it's jamming.  I come from a musical family.  We sang with each other all the time.  Everyone in my family could play the guitar and sing.  Mom could even play the piano - took lessons at one point enough so that she could play hymns if need be.  I took lessons too - but only for a short time.  (Long story, not gonna go there today.)

I started playing the guitar when I was 10, more to have something to share with my brothers than anything else. Dad had an old Barrington guitar with the strings about 1/4 inch from the fret board (OWCH!) and he said that if I was serious about learning, I could learn on that.  Deep breath.  "Okay."  And I was stubborn enough to want to "show him" - and I did.  But whenever I could I used to play my brother's guitar when he was out.  Then I'd put it back before he got back.  Usually that worked. 

I won't go into a big long history but the times I spent jamming with family and friends, whether for church or just family gatherings, were some of the best memories I had growing up.  It was the one time nobody was angry with anyone else.  That carried through to my times of ministry after I got married and moved away.

Once in music ministry the "jamming" times got reduced to "worship team practice."  I do love to worship God and I enjoy being in ministry... but I'll be honest here.  Often times I could easily go home before the service because my soul is so nourished by the music practice alone.  What starts out as a technical practice turns into worship all by itself - and I do feel gypped when it doesn't happen. Music is an effective vehicle to reach the heart, and the heart must be involved for true worship to happen.  I especially love it when the Spirit moves us and everything flows as if we'd done this all our lives.  That happens in services too - which is mostly why I stick around, I guess.  You never know when God is going to show up.  It's really cool when He does!

But sometimes things can get into a routine, you know?  So when someone suggested to hubby and me recently that we go over to his house for a jamming session with some of our mutual friends - we hesitated (well, because we're introverts) but then said, "Sure!"  

We had such a blast! We brought the heavy keyboard to the basement from where it sat in the living room; the sound system was set up down there for the instruments, etc. It was great to get together and play and sing together, we must have been at it for over 2 hours.  Wow.  It sure didn't seem like that long.

And something else happened during that time too.  Something that often isn't on my radar. 

Fellowship.

Oh I am NOT talking about what PASSES for fellowship (you know, small talk over a pot cluck - er - pot luck).  This was a communing of spirits united in worship of God.  At the end of the evening we had grins all over our faces, happily winding up cords and putting the keyboard back where it belonged, talking amongst ourselves.  One person told us that she had been involved in music for a long time but that this was the first time she had ever just "jammed" with a bunch of other musicians / singers.  "It's so much FUN!" she giggled.  

Knowing chuckles came from around the room.  We weren't laughing AT her; we were remembering when that same realization dawned upon each of us.  After the evening's activities, we all felt strengthened, uplifted - yet each of us was surprised by it, amazed by it, and determined to get together again.   

No wonder.  

We'd dipped into the pool of inner strength called "the joy of the Lord."  And it's only found in His presence.  He said, "Wherever two or three of you are gathered in My name, there am I in the midst."  The same thing happens when we just sit and share with each other the great things God is doing in our lives, without judging, without trying to fix the other person, just being grateful for what God is doing.

Whether we can sing or play an instrument or not, enjoying God's presence is what we were hard-wired to do. It's what He planned all along. 

And He loves it when a plan comes together.

Thanks, Skip, Ralph, and God!

The year was 1997 I think.  My husband and I had declared bankruptcy; the trustee had disallowed the rental we were paying to own a computer.  It, the printer, and the fax machine were confiscated.  Our home business was essentially cut off at the knees. 


God was faithful to me during that time, as He always was.  (See my posts from last summer/fall regarding bankruptcy - just search on my search bar at the top left of the page).

I was always in the habit of writing letters to people; I still love to do that.  In the letters I would share what God was teaching me at the time.  Writing is very cathartic for me.  (Perhaps you've noticed - grin.)

Anyway, I called my mom up one day in 1997 and she said, "Oh Skip's here.  He wants to talk to you."  

So I said sure... and during our conversation he said, "You know, we've all been talking about you."  (I thought - oh great, now they talk about me behind my back!!) He continued.  "We all agree that you should write a book."

I was flabbergasted.  A book?  The objections started pouring out of me.  "But Skip, I don't even have a computer!  how can I write a BOOK?"

He was nonplussed.  "We all believe you can write a book.  You have a real talent for writing.  And someday you might have a computer again.  I bet you could at least write an outline down, save it somewhere and then write a book when you get a computer again."  I was still not convinced.  "Well, at least pray about it," he said.  "I really think you have it in you." We finished our conversation and he passed the phone back to Mom.  I don't remember what else we talked about; I was still reeling.


After I hung up, I told my hubby about Skip's suggestion.  He believed that I could write too, but he was so discouraged by the bankruptcy that he hesitated to advise me.  Finally he said, "Well, it can't hurt to pray about it.  If it's God's will, He'll find a way to make it happen."  So that's what I did.  I laid the situation out before Him (as if He didn't already know) and said that in order to write a book I needed a computer.  I couldn't afford one; at the time  they were running about $2,000 apiece for a 386 computer and if I were to get a used one, it would cost me at least $500 or more, money I certainly didn't have!!  I left the whole thing in God's hands, and within two days I had an outline for a book, and put it aside.  And then ... I just forgot about it. I had a lot on my plate at that time - small children, a tight budget, and no credit.  I was in survival mode.  

Two weeks later Ralph, hubby's brother-in-law, came to visit unexpectedly.  We didn't know what he did exactly ... except that he worked for Unisys and he was on PEI on business writing a software package for some company.  I never mentioned Skip's suggestion to him.  He started talking about his work - email - software.  Hubby and I exchanged looks.  

Suddenly Ralph caught on to the fact that we didn't have a computer.  He shook his head in disbelief.  "I can fix that for you no problem," he said.  "The place I work is throwing out old computers all the time.  I can put together some components and build you a computer from stuff they are going to send to the junk pile!"  We made some noises about him not needing to do that, that we had no money with which to reimburse him.  He insisted and refused to charge us anything; we thanked him profusely.

A week later, we got this huge box in the mail.  In it was a 286 computer, loaded with Dos 6.1, Windows 95, and Microsoft Word.  We had never mentioned that we would need a word processing software.  He just loaded it on for us.

Okay, God.  I get it.

For the next five or six months I sat at that computer and wrote and cried. And wrote and cried. I put down all the stuff that had happened to us since we got married, and spoke of the faithfulness of God through it all, even through my dad's death and the bankruptcy.  

Reading it through one day after it was done, I realized I could never publish this book as it was.  It had turned out to be laced with baggage from my past, baggage I didn't know how to deal with, couldn't BEGIN to deal with at the time.  It was almost a tell-all book, like "Mommie Dearest" by Christine Crawford, daughter of Joan Crawford.  Ugh.  Poison dripped from its pages.  

I shuddered.  No.  This book ... though I would not delete it and might someday rework it - or rewrite it without the poison, would not be submitted to a publisher.  

Fast forward twelve years, to February 2009.  Finally I was in recovery through trying to help someone else with his problem - and I found myself dealing with these self-same issues, this baggage I had looked at in 1997 and not been able to face.

I was facing it now.  Part of my recovery was writing.  So I decided to write down my thoughts and my journey and keep it in a binder, so that once I got to the other side and started seeing some hope, I wouldn't forget how I got from A to B - and might (someday) help someone else get out of his or her miry clay of hopelessness.

It took several months of what you might call reconstructive spiritual surgery before I reached that point I had not even dared dream possible.  As I came through and started to see some successes, I realized that THIS was something to write about and maybe help others to recover as well.

A book started to take shape, and I called it (what else?) "Get Unwrapped!".  It took me about six months to write.

When it was done almost a year ago, I asked someone to take a look at the first complete draft of my book, as sort of a "human trial" so to speak. 

It's not like a novel; it's more like a manual for recovery, So it takes a while to go through, even though it is not very long.  So far, the feedback has been positive.  I did another " field trial" with two more people, and the reactions I've gotten have also been quite positive.

On June 7, 2010, Skip passed away. 

I started this blog the next day with a tribute to him.  I said that he always wanted me to write.  

But I guess this is the "rest of the story."  I believe Skip now knows about this book and that he is thrilled for me.  He is part of that great cloud of witnesses cheering us all on - but I think he cheers for me too.

So right now I am in the final stages of getting my book ready for publishing.  

Since I'm not one for jumping through hoops and such, and I like to retain as much control over my work as I can, the option of e-publishing has always been an option for me.  E-books are so cool.  They're cheaper than paper books and they take up less space.  Plus you don't get those awkward cramps in the back of your hand from holding a book open with one hand.  They never run out of stock, and can be downloaded and read on the computer, or on an e-book reader like Nook or Kindle.  

Consider my book the seed idea for this blog: a how-to manual for recovery from a lifestyle of rigidity, perfectionism, excessive care-taking, and misery, and deliverance into a whole new world of grace, freedom, happiness, and peace.
 
And when the book itself is completely ready, uploaded, and online for purchase, you can bet that I will be so pumped about it that you, my faithful readers, will be among the first to know! 

Easing back in

Okay so I've been thinking about this for a long time.  I've missed playing my guitars for so many years, complained about it, blamed this person, that person, busy-ness, the loss of my callouses, and/or my having to spend so much time at work, for keeping me from it. Lately it's been a more legitimate reason: my right shoulder made it painful for me to get my right arm out and around the acoustic guitar.  Funny how when I didn't MAKE the time to play the acoustic guitar, I was really making excuses for not playing it because I just got out of the habit.  But when I wasn't ABLE to play it anymore... suddenly I wanted to.

So a couple of days ago, I finally decided that enough was enough.  I needed a guitar body that was thin enough for me to get my arm around the front without hurting my shoulder, and where the strings kissed the frets to make the callous-building process as painless as possible and still allow me to get a decent sound out of the thing.  

Enter my friend who's pictured above.  She came home with a second-hand amplifier and cord - and I set her up and tuned her right away.  

Yes - it felt good to play again! 

I name stuff from guitars to cars to plants.  I'm kind of funny that way; each seems to have its own personality or symbolism for me.  This one was dubbed Penelope after my grade six teacher (see one of yesterday's posts) who was gentle, and who helped develop my writing talents.

My getting this guitar for myself is one sign that I'm giving myself permission to look after me, to look after my spirit.  

It will be a few weeks before my callouses will have built up enough for me to be able to play in front of people.  But I'm enjoying our time as we worship God together and get to know one another at the same time.  

My Story - my thanks!

The interchange went something like this today:

"It's really weird.  The more I tell my story, the more I find I am helping others who are suffering like I was, to come into their own freedom, and the better and more solid I am in my recovery.  I can talk about my past without becoming angry and upset, and God has given me a compassion for those who injured me in the past, and a burning desire to help those who are still living in suffering and denial."

He smiled.  "Telling one's story is a truly powerful thing."

We went on to talk about how after a certain time, one who is being healed of so many things in his or her inner life comes to the point where going back to the pre-recovery lifestyle is repulsive.  

I believe one book says this about that: "For by this time sanity will have returned. ... if tempted (to go back to the old lifestyle) we recoil from it as from a hot flame.  We react sanely and normally, and we will find that this new attitude has been given to us without any thought or effort on our part. It just comes! That is the miracle of it. We are not fighting it, neither are we avoiding temptation.  We feel as though we had been placed in a position of neutrality, safe and protected.  We have not even sworn off.  Instead, the problem has been removed.  It does not exist for us.  We are neither cocky, nor are we afraid.  That is how we react as long as we keep in fit spiritual condition. ... We are not cured... What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition."

I shook my head.  "It really is repulsive to me now, the life I once thought was so righteous, so 'Christian.'  I wasn't real at all; I hid inside my rules and regulations, isolated myself from the very people who (like me) were in desperate need of God's touch on their lives.  And the whole time I deluded myself into believing that being "right" was better than being happy, being free.  Now that I'm free ... I don't need to be right, to win every argument any more. God is opening more doors than I ever thought possible.  My family, my marriage is restored.  I'm way more accepting of people, and I have more of a sense of where they start and I stop, and vice versa.  I'm ... happy, for what feels like the first time in my life."

He nodded - his eyes sparkling with ... were those tears?

"What a difference this last 2 years has made in my life," I continued.  "And you've been a part of that healing, and I am so grateful."

And I am.

Little Irritations

It sounds so cliché.  But when I was growing up, my mother was always hounding my dad to not squeeze the toothpaste in the middle of the tube.  It bothered her to no end.

I got so very tired of it. So one year for Christmas I decided to save up my quarters from snack money for school, and send away to Regal catalogue for a very needed Christmas gift.  It cost all of five dollars and ninety-nine cents plus a dollar shipping and handling (a fortune in 1973, I thought) but the results were that they no longer fought about the toothpaste: one of the few victories I ever scored growing up.

I got them a manual toothpaste dispenser.  It appealed to Mom for three reasons: one, it made sure Dad never squeezed the tube in the middle, two, there was far less mess, and three, it helped them use all the toothpaste in the tube, saving money.  Dad was glad he didn't have to go searching for the tube and - bonus - it didn't take up as much room since the tube was stored (so to speak) on its end.  Space was at a premium in our house - which Dad described to one person as a "two-storey outhouse" (taller than it was wide).  

They only ever fought about stupid little things like that, and for years upon years these types of things were such bones of contention with them.  Like - who CARES if the stupid toothpaste is squeezed in the middle?  Just be glad he brushes his teeth!  Why would it matter that he doesn't get all the dirt rinsed off his hands when washing them from working in the foundry all day, and then wipes the dirt on the towel?  He's working hard to provide as best he can for his family!!  He takes the time to try to get the first layer of grease off his hands - has to use "Snap" to get it loosened even - and he repairs everything in the house that needs fixing.  So WHAT if he leaves the toilet seat up!  have you forgotten that you used to have to carry the slop pail out to the outhouse in the middle of the winter?  and that Dad installed that bathroom himself so you didn't have to do that anymore?

Of course these are thoughts I had within myself as a child; I never dared express them.  I just wanted everyone to get along.  And so - the dispenser.

Dad passed away in 1993, twelve years after I had left home to start a new life with hubby.  The loss was so very difficult for everyone in the family.  

Mom tried to be strong for our sakes but we could see that she was suffering so very much.  They had done nearly everything together and we knew that she was going to miss him.  We all would, but she the most of all!

About two years after he passed, she and I were talking one day about how different her life was without him.  She grew quiet and her eyes picked a spot in front of her to stare at as she spoke her heart. "You know, I used to get so mad at your father for leaving the toilet seat up.  He'd do it every time too, without fail.  That and so many other things I yelled at him about.  And now," her voice caught as she struggled to remain composure, "I would give ANYTHING to go into that bathroom and see that seat up, if it meant he was with me again."  Her chin quivered.  "I was so foolish, so petty Judy.  I couldn't see how very good I had it.  If only he knew  -  !!"  

I reached for her hand.  "He knows, Mom.  He knows."

A couple of years ago, after my hubby came back from Rehab after being there for three weeks, I went into the bathroom to carry out my morning routine, only to find that he'd left the toilet seat up ... again.  

And I smiled in gratitude.

An Apple for the Teacher

My hubby and I were talking last night about teachers of different kinds and he asked me if there was a teacher that stood out as someone who opened new vistas for me, who was gentle, who challenged me to keep learning.

I've had a lot of teachers in my life, most of them middle-aged (which of course at the time I considered to be "old".) They all made an impact on me, most of them for the good. But the first face that crossed my mind was a young one.  Her name was Penelope Mott and she taught me in grade six.  She was revolutionary in 1971, just graduated from teacher's college, no more than 25 years old.  She had a book table at the back of the room, the first I'd ever seen.  She exposed us to all kinds of things, even the stories of the classical Greek era - including the failings and foibles of the Greek deities.  But what stands out for me is that she turned spelling into a fun way to increase our vocabularies ... by getting us to participate in what words to learn to spell.  Each of us was to go to the bank of dictionaries on the shelf every Friday after our spelling test.  We were to find three words in the dictionary that we didn't know, and write them on the board.  The next half-hour we spent copying down ALL the words and looking up their meanings. And the spelling tests worked this way:  she would say the meaning of a word, and we had to know what that word was and write it down.  It soon became a point of honor as to who could pick the hardest word.  That was where I learned to spell the name of a country that no longer exists as such: Czechoslovakia.  (And no, spell-check didn't kick in there!)   :D

The very next year was my first year in junior high.  I was blessed to have as my teacher a grand old lady named Mrs. Beale.  Many made fun of her - called her Granny Beale - since she was well over 65 years old.  But her passion for the students, her love for passing on knowledge, and her amazing dedication to excellence (in learning, in her appearance, in her moral standards) was so contagious... it made a lasting impression on me.  

She was the last hold-out in our community for teaching from the Bible in the schools.  Others had long since given it up.  She disguised her reading to us out of the book of Exodus as giving us a 'history lesson on the origin of the Jewish people.' What a gutsy lady!! 

I remember looking forward to hearing her voice, expressively narrating the birth of Moses, the experience at the burning bush, and the delivery of the Israelite slaves from Pharaoh and his armies.  My heart thrilled to the provision of food, water, and guidance as the people went through the desert experience.  And as she continued reading I could picture the old man Moses going up into the mountain to view the promised land - knowing that the people would finally enter it after a generation of wandering.

Many years later, I saw her attending the fireworks in Charlottetown with her sister and long-time traveling companion.  I made my way over to her and thanked her - she would have been about 90 - for the impact that she made in my life.  She was so very pleased to know she was remembered.  As if I could forget!!

No, I could not.  I can still hear that voice of hers, with a bit of a quaver in it from age - raptly reading the words of a story she knew so well from a Book she obviously loved.  

These are two out of many teachers that have made a difference in my life.  I could name so many others including some of the pastors I have been blessed to have.  One of them is my own current pastor. 

To all the ones that have touched me, inspired me, given me hope, shown me the promise of better things, and passed on to me their love for learning, for writing, for reading - I bring an apple of gratitude, polished and juicy and sweet, for them to savor at the end of their day.  

May God richly bless you - wherever you are.  

I Have to Give

From the moment one joins a religious organization or a similar service group, one hears about how one has to give.  Give, give, give.  "You HAVE to give!" (pronounced HAF-to). One is told that it is selfish to hold back, to refrain from giving.

In principle I agree.  However, there are a couple of provisos, a few quid pro quos.  

The idea that "we can accomplish so much more as a group than we can individually" has merit, but the tendency is to do nothing that doesn't involve more than two people... or have the approval of the whole group.  So instead of (let's use the example of my trying to reach people with the message of the church) sitting with my co-worker over coffee and really listening to her, opening my heart to her and praying for her, I invite her to church where (I reason) she'll get "all of that."  Well ... in many cases she won't.  She won't even come.  She won't come because I didn't show her that she mattered to me.

Hello!

The early church had sort of the same problem.  Jesus had told them that they would be His witnesses, in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the uttermost part of the earth.  

They had Jerusalem nailed.  But that's (with rare exceptions) as far as it went.  

As an aside to this, even within Jerusalem they couldn't just put a sign on the front lawn and invite people to come to church, take an ad out in the local marketplace paper or whatever - stand on a street corner.  The church was for believers.  Believers ONLY.  The conversions weren't happening inside the body but OUTSIDE, where people rubbed shoulders with their co-workers, relatives, and friends.  Hm.

But I digress. The church in Jerusalem was starting to turn into a megachurch.  Thousands of members all meeting in each others' homes - in cell groups of course, to avoid detection by the authorities.  They developed the beginnings of a church governmental structure.  Discussions were about who was allowed to be a member and who wasn't (Jews versus non-Jews.  Remember - Christianity was originally a Jewish sect!!) - what the non-Jews were required to do and not do in respect to the observance of the Torah.  Spirits were high; miracles were common - and people started to get comfortable. There was "safety in numbers" and with an increase in numbers comes a certain feeling of entitlement. 

Enter persecution.  James the brother of Jesus - beheaded.  Stephen stoned to death.  Saul of Tarsus making it his personal mission to see as many people recant this new sect as possible - dragging them before the magistrates, separating families, being complicit in their deaths - not just him doing this, but the Romans who were in Jerusalem too, under orders from the same lecherous Herod who had John the Baptist AND James beheaded.  

And then a funny thing happened.  The church splintered.  It wasn't a church split like so many we hear about today where a group gets all huffy over some innocuous thing - and walks out.  No - people had to move away from home to get away from the heat and protect their families from the authorities. 

For the purposes that Jesus  had intended, it was the best thing that could have happened to them because ... they took their faith with them.  It was such a part of them that it oozed out of them as they went about their daily routines.  Neighbors, friends started to come to believe in Jesus - why?  because the cell groups formed a committee, did a program to feed the hungry and organized evangelistic crusades? No - because they cared for each other, and they cared about people with whom they interacted every day.  Their LIVES spoke for them, and people were hungry to have that kind of life.  People wanted to HAVE what these Christians HAD... because they definitely HAD something!!

Which brings me to my point.  Yes, I have to give.  But I have to HAVE to give.  If my faith is not making a difference in my life in a real way, if it's not motivating me to be grateful to God and to seek His will in my own decisions regarding my own stuff, then nobody's going to see that I HAVE anything they want.

The (western evangelical) church is often too quick to push people into service.  Get'em "saved", shove'em into ministry right away.  Keep'em busy. Tell'em they SHOULD live right, SHOULD walk with God, SHOULD pray, SHOULD tell the world, SHOULD feed the hungry, SHOULD .... fill in the blank.

What about learning how to live, how to walk with God?  how to pray?  how to give God what belongs to Him (and not just money)?  That's how I can have something that's worthwhile to give away - because it's true: "you can't give away what you don't have."  One reason for that is that nobody will want it.  It's like someone with cavities ... advertising toothpaste! (Switch brands?  are you kidding me?)

Then when I learn to do all those things in my relationship with God, it will automatically overflow into all my daily decisions.  Including the ones I make surrounding who I hang out with.  And I'm sorry folks, but although the accepted interpretation of "come out from among them and be separate" is that I am more "safe" hanging around with church people, that's not my interpretation at all - and definitely not my experience.  I prefer being around people who KNOW they're broken, who KNOW they can't live the way that God intended without help and who don't sugar-coat it.  I've learned a LITTLE bit about how to live, how to walk with God, how to pray and so forth (something I'm afraid I had to go outside the church to learn, but that's another bunny trail) and so I want to be with people who are honest enough to admit that they (like me) don't know it all.  But we're willing to learn.

And as I learn HOW to live life, I find that I have [something] to give.  So I do, not because I HAF-TO but because I HAVE [life] to give ... in whatever moment God brings me to.

Yes and No

They are very powerful words: yes and no.

I used them in the wrong way all my life.  I would say yes to the lies I was told about myself, yes to the responsibilities for actions and consequences that were not my own.  I would say no to the people who reached out their hands in love and friendship to me... even to my husband and my children.  It was hardest with the kids because it was my responsibility to teach them right from wrong and I didn't quite know where to draw the line. There wasn't really a tailor-made manual with each kid, telling me what their areas of sensitivity would be. 

Oh, I had read the parenting books.  I had read the Bible too - and I thought I knew what that meant.  But many of the ideas I had surrounding parenting were skewed by my own abusive upbringing and by my own denial of the fact that it was abusive!!

One book I read seemed to fly in the face of everything I had been taught about parenting (both by example and by the accepted doctrine of parenting I had been taught by just about everyone I knew). It was called, "How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk."

It talked about the loaded words we use with our kids like "bad" and "good" - and how the WAY we say something can make the difference between a child having a positive self-image or a negative one.  

I did use some of those techniques with my kids - with good results - but the problem with me was that it wasn't consistent.  I had too much anger in me, too much terror that they would take the wrong path and turn their backs on everything I held dear.  That fear ended up being a self-fulfilling prophecy.  When my oldest started embracing friends I didn't agree with her having, and espousing opinions which were diametrically opposed to mine - my terror translated to panic and to a emotional, tyrannical, angry outbursts designed to scare her or hurt her "back into line."  She withdrew from me, and pushed my buttons from afar.  She took the one stance that drove me absolutely mad: she took a condescending tone.  OH how that infuriated me!  I lost all rationality and then it became a matter of who could hurt whom first.  I did much the same with her sister as she got to be an age where she was hanging out with people who were "a bad influence" on her.  I didn't see that she was just looking to have an identity separate from mine.  They both were.

By the time I got into recovery (and even that was not me saying yes to me - I was trying to help someone else and cope with HIS problem) I was playing all the cards: guilt, shame, anger, intimidation, manipulation, suspicion, accusation, you name it.  It was all fear-based.  I didn't see that the roots of my behavior were in the beliefs I had about myself based on my past experiences.  All I knew was that the world, and my family in particular, would be so much better off if they just did what I said, thought like I did, and believed the way I believed.

Once I started dealing with those issues in my past, and forgave those people, I began to realize how my inner messages were affecting those around me, including my husband and children.  And that's when one of the things I learned in that book came to my aid.

It's called "Looking for Yes" and it's based pretty much on the same principle as the movie "Yes Man" starring Jim Carrey.  Only in addition to myself, I had to look for a way to say yes to my loved ones.... I was saying no ALL THE TIME.

No wonder they were all terrified of me!!

My first step in letting go was separating beliefs from opinions, and then learning to recognize when I needed to shut up and let someone have their own beliefs and opinions even if they differed from mine!  Not easy for me; I'm very opinionated and I was of the erroneous opinion (there's that word again) that since I was the parent, my word was gospel and must be obeyed at all times without question.  I refused to listen or to ask why.

So ... I started trying to understand some of the behaviors I was seeing in my kids - from their perspective.  And I learned that their hearts were in the right place after all, that they weren't deliberately trying to drive me nuts and that they had the right to hold their own opinions.  And their own beliefs, for that matter. After all, they were NOT clones of me; they were humans in their own right and it was unreasonable of me to expect them to look at life the same way I did. (Duh, I didn't end up believing the same things as my parents did!!)  THIS WAS IMMENSE in my understanding of what parenting was about - and what being a human being was about.  People had the right to make choices on their own without my help. This was such a new concept for me!  

When I started stepping aside and letting that happen, and letting others bear the responsibility for their own actions (even refusing to make consequences happen - aka punishment - but also refusing to shield someone from the natural results of his or her choices) a transformation took place.  It was like the more I did this, the more the weight of the world started rolling off my shoulders.  My stress level went down.  My tolerance level increased.  I started to "lighten up" on my kids, on my husband, to not obsess about what they were up to, or what they "might do." 

Eventually I was able to see how my own behavior toward them was causing them to act in some of the ways they were acting.  I was empowered to be entirely ready to have God remove these character flaws from me, to accept forgiveness with Him - and apologize to them (sincerely) for being such a tyrant.  I was able to let them know that I was becoming free.  They already knew that by having seen some of the attitude changes in me.  They started opening up to me more.  And best of all, they forgave me.  That blew me away - part of me still can't believe it.

Today I enjoy a much better relationship with them than I ever had. And I lay the credit for that squarely at the feet of God, who heard my cry for help, reached into my darkness and (see my last post) pulled me out of the muck.  

Bottom is when you stop digging

It amazes me sometimes how my natural tendency to want to give advice, fix, or otherwise control someone else's life can hide from me.

I was warned - many years ago - in another context I suppose.  A camp counselor at a Bible camp told me, when I told her of a recent decision to give God "all my life" - said, "That's wonderful!  just remember though - the problem with a 'living sacrifice' is that it's always crawling off the altar!"

Or was it another context...?  I wonder.  

I do know that denial was a way of life for me then, and for most of my life after that.  It's only in early 2009 that God brought me to the place where I was desperate enough to be honest with myself.  

Looking back, I can be thankful that God brought me the route that He did; there was a time when I couldn't see that (all I could see was my own misery.)  What I can understand now is that my self-delusion had to be crushed to the point where I admitted that my life was totally unmanageable. My efforts to construct a perfect world for myself and my loved ones was falling around me like a house of cards and I was in panic mode. I was drowning in my own self-made watery grave. Like a drowning person who stops struggling and can then be rescued - I was ready to accept help.

Admitting that I needed help from someone outside the church was a big deal for me.  I was bound up by spiritual pride, religious traditions that masqueraded as doctrines when in fact, they were personal preferences based on my level of comfort with certain ideas I had been conditioned to believe were wrong.  

I had so many false beliefs about what real life was like.  They all stemmed from messages I received when I was a child about my own worth, and I formed values based on those beliefs.   I carried them with me into my marriage and eventually into my role as a mother.  

The day of discovery came for me one day about 23 months ago.  Through the help of someone God had brought into my path after a desperate heart's-cry for help... I was confronted with these false beliefs and asked to admit that perhaps my life was in a mess because I'd compulsively dug myself into a hole and couldn't stop digging.  Perhaps the things I believed about myself (and therefore others) were ... wrong.  I was gently asked to stop digging and accept the help that was offered to me.

Eventually, through the process of my inner healing and letting go of the tools I'd been using to dig myself into a hole, I finally asked God to reach into my mess and pull me out.

It was not easy; He had to pull me out through some obstacles I had set up - and it's by no means perfect today.  But He has given me the grace and the experience to be able to tell when I am digging again - and enough of a taste of freedom to willingly offer Him the shovel.

Never Run Dry

When I was a child, one of the things I took for granted was this pipe sticking up out of the ground in my home town.  It was called the Booster Pump - an odd name which has a long history and which I didn't know then.  Basically it was a man-made artesian well.  The town had built a reservoir to catch rain water, piped it under the town but there were problems getting it to go over a certain hill to supply the rest of the town, so they built a pump to move the water over the hill.  In order to make it work properly there was an overflow well, which was converted into a pump-house.  The 40 horsepower pump was left on all the time.  In time the need for the pump no longer existed (with larger pipes underground) but the man-made artesian well remained.  In the 1940s the pump house was removed - and when I was a child in the late 60's, the pipe sticking up from the ground, constantly spouting pure water, had become a town landmark. Children and animals alike quenched their thirst from it; people would bring jugs to fill from it and take home, claiming that the "town water" didn't taste nearly as good as this.

They were right.  The water that overflowed was akin to well water on a grand scale, fed by rains and the winter snows and spring run-off.  It was clear, pure, cold, and breathtakingly delicious. It still is. It was also free to anyone and I hope that it still is.  I believe that now, another pump house has been constructed around it to honor the landmark.  

All I knew as a child was that the water was there, it was good, and it was free.

Like God's love - forgiveness - grace ... an endless supply offered freely.  Only His is on a much larger scale.  

Life doesn't get any better than that.
Anybody thirsty?

Talking and Listening - and Dancing

Much has been said about the topic of prayer.  Books have been written, entire doctrines have been postulated about the proper posture, format, attitude, and even the words used when  praying.

When you boil it right down, all prayer is, is a conversation between two people when one of them just happens to be God.


Yes, He is omnipotent.  Yes, He is holy.  Yes, He is the creator of the universe and the judge of our motives.  Of course!  But He's also a person.  He created us to be persons so that we could communicate with Him.  He desires to communicate with us.  So when we pray, we tell Him what is on our minds, thank Him for listening ... and then (something we may miss) we listen to what He has to say.  The better we become at listening, the longer the interaction lasts; it spills out into the day as He goes with us.  The prayer becomes a constant conversation.  Hearing His voice gets easier to do.  We get to know what His will is, and we do it out of gratitude to Him.  The more we let God do His will through us, relying on His strength alone, the fewer mistakes we'll make, and the more confident we become that He is listening and will do what is best: in us, through us, and for us as well as for those other people (whoever they are) for whom we pray.

It's like learning to dance.  You don't get it perfect the first time.  One person leads, the other follows his lead.  

I was talking to my mother yesterday and she reminded me of one of the activities that she and Dad used to do together - they used to go to barn dances.  There was a fiddler and a square-dance caller and everything!  They took me along once; I would have been about 12 years old, I guess.  It's one of my better memories growing up.  I even got to dance!!

At a certain portion of every barn dance, the group dancing (square-dancing) was over with and the waltzing would start.

Dad would ask Mom to dance with him.  And it was awkward for both of them.  She didn't know the steps; he didn't have the patience to teach her without getting annoyed.  She felt stupid and he felt frustrated.  Eventually he just took her to dances but danced with other people while she watched ... and then he just went and sat the waltzing part out. After a while they stopped going altogether.  She told me, "I didn't mind going to the dances at all, and I wasn't jealous of him dancing with those other women.  I just wished he would have told me what he wanted." 

I grinned at her.  "You know what the problem was don't you Mom?"  She shook her head.  I continued, more of a statement than a question.  "You tried to lead .... didn't you."  She kind of looked sheepish and I knew that was it.  Letting him lead was how she could have learned how to dance.  

One learns by doing - in dancing - in prayer - in life.  

Dad was a novice dancer and he didn't know what was wrong; he just knew that whenever he went one way, she went another. They ended stepping on each others' toes. And after a while that can be very discouraging.  Letting someone lead implies you trust  the person to never lead you astray.  Mom and I didn't go there in our conversation. She continued on to talk about other things.  But it got me to thinking.

I heard guidance described in this way before - it's a dance. The GUI at the first stands for God, U and I.  So God, you and I dance.  It is a great analogy for prayer as a life-conversation.  In connection with Him, close enough for conversation and taking cues and leading from Him.  (Of course when WE try to lead we get frustrated and end up looking and feeling foolish...)  But as we let go of our need to control every situation and let God do it - we get better at it.  

And God can take us places in Him we never thought we'd go.  All we need to do is accept His invitation ... and let Him lead.

Forgiveness - a choice, a process

Doctors tell us that anger can kill us.

That's only partly true.  Anger we hold on to, stuff down inside us, and refuse to express in safe ways, can kill us.


Anger is an appropriate response to being hurt or seeing others hurt by someone else.  Like all emotions, it is meant to be a transient state; it is designed to alert our selves to a boundary being crossed, and to tell us that something important, something intolerable, needs our attention.  It is one of the ways God has given us to look after ourselves.  It is NOT BAD in itself.  Being angry does not make me or you a bad person; it proves we are human.

In the church, anger is frowned upon (haha, I think I made a funny!) And the message is always one of forgiveness.  The Lord's prayer says that God forgives us in the same way as we forgive others.  There's a sobering thought!

But forgiveness is something we can't just conjure up. It is something that God gives us the strength to do. I believe that in the church, this is not emphasized enough - we hear sermons on the fact that we have to forgive but nobody describes what that looks like and how it happens.  So we try to jump into forgiveness ... and in cases where the hurt is huge, we still end up feeling resentful and we think we are defective.  

This is NOT true.

Forgiveness is a process that starts with a decision to be willing to forgive, but it doesn't always happen (snap) just like that.  The deeper and/or more long-standing a hurt has been, or the more often and long-term it was, the more difficult it is to forgive and ... you can tar and feather me later ... the longer it's going to take.  

I speak from experience.  Those of you who know me well know that I have been through this process, in fact many times since January 2009.  It never gets any easier, and although it's different for each person because of the circumstances, the process is the same.


Often we get over a hurt that comes from a misunderstanding; we tell the person what they did, we say how we felt, and we come to an understanding, forgive, and move on.  That's wonderful!!  

But what I'm going to say next pertains to long-standing unforgiveness issues.  Deep wounds from the past.  Mommy issues. Daddy issues.  Self-esteem issues.  Abuse of all kinds.  Rape. Alcoholism - even someone else's.  Long-term pain.  I've been in a good many of those places.  God has freed me of a lot of the baggage in my life, and so if you don't mind, and you have been there too and are struggling, I am going to speak directly to you.

Anger is the first necessary step in the forgiveness process.  It says, "What you did to me was wrong and it hurt me.  I refuse to make excuses for you and sweep this under the carpet."  If it helps to list all the ways that the action hurt you, and what repercussions that has had ever since, then it's okay to go there.  The idea is to shift the responsibility for what happened squarely on the shoulders of the person to whom it belongs and not try to punish yourself for it.

Keep in mind that this is not the time to go to the person who has hurt you (or write a letter to him or her) and get it off your chest.  It's too soon.  This is an internal conversation you have.  It's part of the process of GETTING to forgiveness.

The next part is sometimes the part that people dread the most: it's the grief.

Grieving something that has been taken from you is healthy, just as grieving someone who has left or has been taken from you is healthy.  It lasts however long it lasts to get the hurt out into the open where your heart and your mind can deal with it.  

Whether it's lost innocence, a lost business, or a lost sense of self-respect or self-worth, grief is grief and must be felt, expressed, and allowed to run its course - however long that takes.  In cases of recovery from abuse, it might take a longer time than you might like.  It's necessary, however, in order to get better.  

Believe me.  I know.  Healing happens from the inside out.  It took a long time to be hurt this badly and it will take some time to heal.  Give yourself a break.  You've been beating up on yourself long enough.

Many people cannot deal with these things until much later in life.  That's okay - the important thing is that it's being dealt with now.

As grief passes for whatever it is that has been lost, the emotional storm passes and clarity comes.  You can think about the person who has harmed you without automatically getting upset.  That's when you can accept a very important fact: that what this person took from you is no longer in his or her possession.  It cannot be returned to you ... especially in situations of sexual, physical, and/or emotional abuse!  

Looking  to that person to restore to you the lost innocence, the lost years, the lost relationships that have resulted - is not fair to you and not fair to the person who hurt you.  He or she CAN'T pay you back. Ever.  
God is the restorer; He is the One who heals.  Sometimes it helps to imagine God telling you the truth about how He feels about you.  Things that heal you inside, that counter the lying message that the hurt has given you about yourself.  Repeat it again and again and again, until you begin to believe it!  Let Him tell you that He loves you, that you are precious to Him, that He wants the best for you, ... whatever your wounded self needs to hear in order to heal.  If it helps to write it down, then write it down and put it somewhere that will be visible to you daily.  As your wounds heal, as you begin to get better inside your own skin, you will find that you have the strength to do what comes next.

Only then is it time to forgive.  Forgiveness is (as discussed) not making excuses for the other person but simply a decision to write off a debt.  Realize it will never be paid back to you and write it off.  This is a God-thing.  This is what God does with us.  The debt was already paid - Jesus felt the shame and the guilt for everything, and now offers to release us from spiritual bankruptcy.  When we accept His offer, He gives us the strength to do the same.  

Forgiveness doesn't depend on whether the other person is sorry.  It doesn't depend on how bad the offense was.  It depends on the willingness of the one who forgives.  It is something that takes place inside of you.  And it sets you free.

Sometimes forgiveness means taking responsibility for the part you have played in (if not the original offense) your reactions to it and the repercussions in that person's life.  If this is the case, then after forgiveness has taken place inside of you, it is time to admit those things to God, to yourself, and to someone you trust.  Then ask God to remove those things and attitudes in your heart that have hung on and destroyed others' lives as a result of your own brokenness.  

So when you go to the person (if such a thing is necessary... and if the person is an active sexual abuser, let me tell you ... it is not!!) you won't be talking about how he or she hurt you (that is now a dead issue!); you will be talking about how you hurt him or her. 

Sometimes that will result in reconciliation, an apology from the person even.  Other times ... it won't.  The important thing is to de-clutter your own insides, to be able to live with yourself, to feel comfortable in your own skin.  

That freedom is worth more than I could possibly describe.

Lost and Found

In dreams, Son sees his father's face
How oft, we'll never know
A scowl and a frown sear his soul.
He turns away and fails to see
The love Dad dared not show
For fear that he'd break down - cry openly.

We all could see.  Except him.

Dad's gone.  He looks on helplessly
Unable to reach down
... and make him whole.
If only Son could see

It's there for free - it's just for him...

Look to the skies, My love is written there
Feel the rain fall, My tears drench your hair -
Open your heart - sunshine and healing are free!
Your father's love is lost - and found - in Me.

© 2011-1-21  jgGillis

Child of Wonder

Child of wonder, child of woe
Frets a lot and worries so -
Makes her tummy spin and churn
Starting now to live and learn

To leave it in the Master's hands,
Ask Him to work out His plans
Trust in spite of circumstance
 Rest in grace
... and not in chance

Only God in heaven above
Can work it out in love
.... in Love.

© jgGillis 2011-01-21
Dedicated to my mom, who's learning to lean on Jesus ...

Retired?

The old joke goes, "I'm retired.  I'm tired today and I'll be tired again tomorrow."

The hope that most people have of retirement is more time to do the things that we enjoy doing, like recreation, travel, more time spent with family and friends, resting in a hammock, taking naps.

It's all an illusion.  That only happens to the ones born with silver spoons in their mouths, who have servants and six-figure retirement incomes.

The "lazy" stereotype is bunk too.  

I have spent the last two weeks trying to keep up with my husband, who's been retired since October 2009.

I'm tired!  The guy rarely has three hours at a stretch to himself, is driving this kid here and that kid there, doing errands in town, housework at home (yes, God has blessed me richly!), and miscellaneous tasks like looking after the maintenance of the house, shoveling snow, scraping windshields, scheduling appointments... in short, it sounds just like everything that a young stay-at-home mother does.  But he's not a young stay-at-home mother; he's a 58-year-old man with high blood pressure, arthritis in one knee and the foot on the same side, lumbar disc disease, and half the income he used to have.  He doesn't have money so we can go golfing together, which we love to do when we get the chance.  There's no money left over after the bills are paid to go on vacations to tropical climates. 

Yet he's happy (if a little harried) at the end of a day.  He might not think he accomplishes much in the run of a day but ... it's pretty difficult to match his activity level, which has easily tripled since he retired!  And truth be told, part of me is looking forward to getting back to work so I can get some rest from just trying to keep pace with him!

Here's a toast to you, my love; I raise my coffee mug to you.  I'm so very glad to have you back again: the real you!

I've watched you closely for nearly the last two years in your recovery from your addiction, and have seen you blossom into the honest, loving, sensitive, generous man I fell in love with all those years ago.  

I've seen you connect with our kids and give them a safe place to land, unselfishly giving of your time and your resources to give them the best possible foundation on which to build their lives.  They love you to bits, you know.

I've watched in joy as you have developed and maintained relationships, budding friendships with more people than you ever thought possible.  Life is full for both of us - and given the choice between the life of luxury most people hope for when they think of retirement, and just spending time with you...

I'd choose you any day.

Coming Soon

... to a church basement near you! ...

Yes, after much prayer and soul-searching, hubby and I had a meeting today with the pastors of a local church, who are open to allowing us to have CoDA meetings at the church building.  It's early stages yet, because the proposal still must pass approval of the board of directors, but if we get that, we could have our first meeting as early as February 21st!

CoDA has chapters in every province in Canada except PEI as far as we know.  (for more information on what codependency is, please see my page on "What is Codependency?" the link for which is located near the top of this page.) If you want more information on what CoDA is, you can click here.

The only requirement for membership (as stated in CoDA's traditions) is a desire for healthy and loving relationships.

One of the things I like most about 12-step groups is that they provide a blueprint for developing a relationship with God, broken down into twelve easy-to-understand (yet not so easy-to-take) steps.  A quick study and comparison of the twelve steps of ANY 12-step group (from AA to Overeaters Anonymous) is that the first step defines the problem and the rest of the steps are about developing and maintaining that relationship with the only Power that can help the sufferer recover from his/her problem.

And another thing I like a lot about 12-step groups is that irresistibly attractive atmosphere that is present in each and every meeting I've been to:  acceptance.  I have talked about acceptance before on this blog, so I won't belabor the point.  But it is absolutely imperative that acceptance be present in any group situation where healing is the goal.  That's what these groups are about (healing) and that unconditional acceptance is there to give people a safe place in which to get better.

One is not long in a 12-step group before the concept of a loving, accepting, gracious, merciful, and forgiving God comes to the fore.  The more people ask this God to reveal Himself and get to know Him, the more He resembles the One who walked the shores of Galilee nearly 2000 years ago and called people to a life of freedom and purpose.  The roots of AA, which is the parent organization for all twelve-step programs, are in the firm bedrock of an evangelical Christian organization/ society that was in place in 1933 when one Bill Wilson became a member of it.  Bill was an alcoholic and he found forgiveness and mercy from God through Jesus, in this society, then known as the "Oxford group".  The principles on which AA was founded are biblical principles and it's the spiritual aspect of "the program" which makes it work so well.  

I'm excited about this new opportunity to reach out to hurting people, people who are suffering just like I did, in our community and I'll keep you posted as I know more about when and where we'll start up.  I have a funny feeling that God is going to show up too.  Whenever He does... it's always worth while.

Hope Preferred

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I unequivocally hate the winter.  Everything about the winter.  The cold.  The snow. The ice.  The wind.  You get the picture.

But I don't think I would complain about it so much if I lived in say, southern Ontario, where winter lasts the length of time the calendar says it lasts.... you know, three months.

Not in Atlantic Canada.  

No, the cold weather starts in early November; the first snowfall is usually then, and it gets colder and colder until the first major snowstorm around New Year's Day.  Throughout the cold snap and thaw in January and the February deep freeze (the longest month of the year for me), and then the bitter winds of March, followed by the freezing rain / ice storms of April, the weather doesn't get warm again until nearly the first of May.  Almost six months.  It's not that we get a LOT of snow here.  Sometimes we do, sometimes not.  It's just that winter lasts such a LONG time.  If it wasn't for our maples and our other friends, I don't know what I'd do.

The maples are the first harbingers of spring.  They very slowly, very deliberately form a little bulge on the tips of their branches.  The promise of a bud.  It's then that I start listening, straining with my subconscious ears, for the next sign: the sounds of Canada geese, like little John Allen Cameron wannabes, returning from the sunny south.  And once I've heard that, I start looking out our living room window.  Not out at the lawn but down - down near the place where the house meets the ground, where some heat has escaped and made a mini-ravine behind the snowbank left by layer after layer of snowblower's leavings.  

In that small ravine I look for the hardiest, pluckiest souls of spring: the crocus. I try not to think about how they usually meet their end - in a howling Nor-easter that deposits ice half an inch thick on all the tree branches and bows the crocus blooms in humiliation to the earth for their optimism.

Once they have made an appearance, though, it does give me more hope. And hope is preferable to the despondency that sets in during the deepest, bleakest winter months of January through to March.  Once the crocus blithely poke their way through the snow, I know that there are only a few more weeks until my own personal official sign that spring will have finally arrived: when the last pair of robins has to settle for our now-budded maples in which to make their nest.  The robins in general avoid our property like the plague because we only have an indoor cat, and therefore every other outdoor cat in the neighborhood makes our garden its litter box; the smell of cat is everywhere to those sensitive bird nostrils.  

In the meantime, between the crocus and the robins, I thrill to the sound of mourning doves cooing on our rooftop early in the morning, as they speed-date their way to a nest full of eggs.  

Yes, that feeling of hope is preferred.  It means that the cruel and punishing icy gales are going to stop for another season, we'll be able to put away our bulky winter coats and enjoy more hours of daylight.

Some days, that hope, that assurance, is the only thing that gets me through the tough times when I wonder if winter will ever end.

It always does. Spring always comes.