To all the Mamas

Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.
Stevie Wonder

Hi Mommas.
 I've been thinking about all you mommas out there with young ones a lot lately. Wee little balls of juicy, kissable flesh, and belly laughs that make you want to weep, and sweet, soft sounds as they lay in your arms and look into your eyes with nothing but trust..........
ANNNNND the ability to remain awake into the night hours that make you so weary and bleary-eyed that you think your head could actually explode from fatigue, or the teething symptoms that transform your loveable cherub into a mini gargoyle, or the last roll of toilet paper shoved expertly into the toilet bowl as they happily lick their fingers with the left-over toilet water.

  Mmmmhmmmm; it's a really... Hard.... Job. Let's add the perpetual guilt that we seem to battle with as mothers: Am I raising them right? Will they remember how much I loved them; and not how often I yelled at them? Am I doing OK? Why haven't I lost all my baby weight yet? Am I the only one who needs a break sometimes from these kids?
 My WORD!!! There is a LOT of pressure to preform people!    

I just want you to know that you are doing awesome. I don't care if you have stretch marks, 20 more pounds to go to feel more human, haven't brushed your teeth yet today, or cleaned your toilets in a few weeks. I think you are AH -MAY- ZING. I love watching you hold your babies and gaze at them with love, or when you post a bazillion pictures of them on Facebook because they are SO CUTE(Hello, my name is Jenn, and yes, I am a baby vulture). It makes me so proud to see you trying the best you can with what you've got, and even then some. You are so beautiful right now. You inspire me, and make me proud to be a woman.

It's OK to cry sometimes and admit your weaknesses. I get that; with my first, I had post-partum depression so bad and cried so much and so often, I was dehydrated for a year.
It's also OK to make mistakes; I should know; I actually tossed my new, beautiful, soft, pink daughter, down a whole flight of stairs by accident at a week old. Oh, yes, I did. Ohhh yes.... I did.
You can give yourself grace in this season of life. I realized this after discovering ALL my gorgeous, luscious house-plants were crispy dead after three months into motherhood because I literally could not, COULD...NOT handle nurturing more than one living thing at a time, and I was pretty sure I wanted to keep my newborn alive and me sort of sane.



The greatest revelation God gave me during the early years of mothering was during a, why-do-I-even-go-to-church-if-I'm-just-going-to-chase-my-kid-around-the-whole-time, session. I was feeling that panicky and frustrated feeling like, I was OUTSIDE of the congregation, OUTSIDE of whatever supernatural amazingness was happening, and that I was going to miss it, and fail as a Christian. Or even worse, miss what God had for me. It was then, that I felt the Lord lovingly say that His arms could reach a lot farther than any congregation and any supernatural happening. That He could find me in my home, while I was rocking my baby to sleep, and impart the very same anointing and presence on me that he was to all the others folks seated peacefully in the sanctuary. That He, was gentle with those with young and lovingly visits us where we are at. You may be outside your norm; outside of your comfort zone, and may even be grieving the loss of your old life, but you are NEVER, EVER outside the embrace of God's arms.



Isaiah 40:11
He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

I'm really REALLY proud of you and I'm cheering you on. Go Mommas Go!!!!

Love,

Jenn

Anniversary

So, my smoking hot husband and I will be married for 16 years on August 23rd. Now, I know that when I brag about that to the long-timers; the ones who have been at it for like, 30, 40, 50 years, they kind of smirk at me with that knowing look........ like I have no idea what I'm even talking about and that 16 years is like a blink of the eye compared to the amount of time they've spent lolling around in wedded bliss. But for Pete's sake; nowadays 16 years is like, a monumental amount of time considering the divorce rate. I've also never spent this amount of time with the same person voluntarily, day after day, week after week, month after month. Seriously. 

 We had NO IDEA what we were getting into when we first got engaged. I was 20, he was 23. He had just been hired as youth pastor, and I was, well, just out of diapers. He didn't know that I turned into a sort of Gollum if he tried to eat my potato chips(like I needed them), or that I hogged the blankets with a superhuman strength that would frighten your pants off, or that I really didn't know how to cook; more just burn things nicely. I didn't know he loved to play practical jokes(NOT funny buddy!), LOVED action movies with a passion(barf), and would watch so much hockey that his retinas should have shrivelled up by now. 

 

I also didn't know how lovely it would feel to be in a room full of strangers, and without looking, know that he was there somewhere in that room and that he had my back. Or how strong his shoulders would feel as I faced loss, depression, loneliness, and contractions that would make you want to poke your eyeballs out. I never knew that there is such thing as long, comfortable silences with someone, or that you can actually look someone in the eyes and know what they are thinking just with a glance. I didn't know that saying yes, when we want to say no, would grow us from the inside out, and make us more beautiful people. I also didn't realize that when it feels like there doesn't seem to be a hopeful tomorrow, all I have to do is turn away from the hopelessness, look in the eyes of Jesus, and see a million more tomorrows. True story.

 

I love you husband. You are my favourite; even when you won't let me hold the remote.

Lessons of life from an 89 year old.

I am reposting this blog in honor of my dear Grandfather, who passed away on Easter morning April 20, 2014. He lived a long, good, humble life full of love, humility, laughter, and surrounded by the people he loved. Everywhere he went, people enjoyed his wit, friendliness, and kindness. For such a simple life; he still managed to profoundly influence everyone around him. Farewell Grandpa; I'll be seeing you in all the old, familiar places..........

My grandfather turned 89 this month. It's hard for me to believe he is one year away from being 90 years old. He is a tall, handsome man with a twinkle in his eye.  I've always felt proud that this man was my Grandpa. Lately, he has had some physical challenges that have left him more vulnerable than before. I find myself wanting to protect, and cover him. I think about him every day and pray for him even more. As the years go by, I feel like my sense of connection to him grows stronger.

He was a carpenter. He built my mother's first home that I had my first birthday in, and built the home he still lives in. When I had my first home built, he came and inspected it and was most interested and delighted in the furnace and hot water tank. Those same hands that built good, sturdy homes, also played the most beautiful music. He is a guitar player and I loved hearing him play. When my Grandmother was alive, she would sing along to his playing and I would soak it all up, my heart just getting bigger and bigger from the sweetness of it all. He has always kept things simple; having lived through the depression gave him a unique perspective on what is really important. He is extremely generous. Every time my kids and I visit him, he is reaching in his pocket to give my kids a "little something". If I protest, his rebuttal is, "What am I going to spend it on?"

I love talking with him about his past. His childhood was vastly different than mine. We grew up in completely different worlds; yet, he relates so well to such a broad range of people. He has shared stories with me of his life during the depression; the war; riding the streetcars in Edmonton, and having his milk delivered to his house every morning in glass bottles.

The most compelling hope I have for him in these twilight years of his life, is that those that do not know him like I do, would treat him with the same love and value that I feel for him. He is so precious to so many; I want him treated accordingly. I would like for him to feel as if, even though he is older and more frail, his value does not change in anyone's eyes. He may not have lead nations, written a world changing novel, or produced a blockbuster movie, but he did teach me compassion, generosity, acceptance of others, and faithfulness in marriage. These values are priceless, and will be passed down for generations. To me, that is a far greater legacy to leave behind and he should be honoured for it.

Now, when I am around the elderly, vulnerable and destitute, I think about my Grandpa and how I love him and wish for him to be treated. My touch is softer, and my attention towards their heart's cry is increased. Whether it's with the homeless of Barquisimeto, Venezuela, or the troubled youth in my own city, I see them through a different set of eyes now.

My wish would be that we would all treat one another like this. That we would remember that the people we are encountering on our everyday journey of life are someone's mother; brother; sister; grandfather. That they are loved dearly and deeply by someone. That they have a destiny, despite what their outward appearance may reflect.



Thank you so much for teaching me this, Grandpa. I love you.

The history of our grandparents is remembered not with rose petals but in the laughter and tears of their children and their children's children.  It is into us that the lives of grandparents have gone.  It is in us that their history becomes a future.  ~Charles and Ann Morse

Wearing Vulnerability

As I get older, I find that what I admire and value has changed. There was a time when I would not even think about exposing my weaknesses to anyone, as that might mean risking looking bad, incapable, or even appearing as a failure. As I age, I see life through a different lens. The challenges of life have humbled me, stretched me, and showed me that I'm not an island, nor will I ever be the picture of perfection to anyone. In fact, I would argue that those who choose to be vulnerable and transparent to those they love and trust, end up being the far more admirable, courageous, and strong ones.

 When my precious friends sit with me and share their deepest secrets, innermost sorrows, and hidden fragile pieces, my instant reaction is deep compassion, and fierce pride. Pride for the courage it takes to be real; when it could mean rejection. Pride for choosing the path less traveled, and great compassion for the pain they are working through. It takes my breath away; the beauty that I see in the raw vulnerability of a human being. The underbelly of a person that society would choose to turn their backs on is, in fact, a gift to humankind. It reminds us that we are all flawed, broken, and on a great transformative journey. It beckons us to walk this magnificent road together.

 Sometimes, I'm the one one that needs compassion and covering. If I have looked down on someone's vulnerable moments and sneered at their weaknesses, I can only expect the same in return. How I treat the least of these in my life, shows who I really am deep down inside. So, I must clothe myself in vulnerability. I must wear it like a crown; like the masterpiece that it is. It draws out the best in the people around me, keeps my heart soft, and makes me the woman I really want to be.

Thank you, to all the powerful people out there who have mentored this in me through choosing to welcome me into your vulnerable moments. By doing that, you have given me a gift far greater than money could ever buy.

Lonely

lone·ly  (lnl)

a. Dejected by the awareness of being alone. 












I asked my daughter the other day what her definition of loneliness was and she said, "When you look at other kids and you think," I wish I had someone to play with.""

I find it interesting that most people's definition of loneliness would be similar to my daughter's: Wishing for genuine and fulfilling companionship and the awareness that you don't have it. It's a strange thing to feel when we live in a culture like ours where, we could literally be surrounded by people constantly if we wanted to, yet still feel alone. 

When I reflect on my lonely moments; for me, it's an undefined longing or ache that I feel. Like an emptiness that is not being filled. It can visit me when I am home alone, or when I'm in a room full of people I know. It's pretty hard to ignore. It's like an uninvited guest.

Trying to address loneliness is a whole other ball game. I find it takes a lot of self control to not have a knee jerk reaction and try to anesthetize it quickly so as not to feel the pain of it. Generally, throwing on a TV show to create some noise, eating junk food to get that feel-good rush, or expecting my loved ones to fix it, tends to exacerbate the feeling even more. 



I'm trying to ask myself some good, hard questions when loneliness visits:

Why am I feeling this right now; what triggered this?
I'm discovering that it's often little things that trigger loneliness for me: Not seeing eye to eye with my husband; failing at something that I expect to be better at; not getting the recognition I wish for. To me those are indicators that my identity has been misplaced; that I've tried to define who I am by things that are shallow and fleeting, and were never meant to bring me long term satisfaction. 
 When I ask myself why these moments trigger feelings of loneliness, it helps me to recognize my unbalanced attachment to them.

Are my expectations greater than my realities?
One of my favourite sayings is, " The distance between expectation and reality is disappointment". It is one of my life mantras and I quote it to anyone who will listen. How many times has my over-inflated expectations of a person or situation resulted in disappointment? Too many. It leads to loneliness because my unrealistic expectations are difficult to live up to, and this creates a separation between us.

Who\what do I expect to fill this void with? 
More and more I am aware of the fact that I am more than just mind and body. I am spirit as well. I think it's fair to say that mostly the former two are given my attention during the course of a busy day. But the spirit is what we are really made of. The spirit is what gives us life. And the source of that spirit is God. He is the one who made us with that "vacuum"; in order to fill it with His life-giving presence, and His presence alone. His companionship touches a place in our lives that only His can. The unsatisfied becomes quenched when we acknowledge our need for His presence and inclusion in our moments. Nothing fills a lonely void like a God that loves unconditionally, without judgement or reserve, and who knows us better than anyone on this earth ever could or will. 




If you are one who battles with loneliness; you are not alone. I do too. Some days more than others. Take comfort in this:
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest". Matthew 11:28

Why sometimes Plan B makes a better Plan A

In the 1980s, a terrible famine hit Ethiopia. The pictures from those awful times were devastating to see. I still distinctly remember as a child seeing the first commercial highlighting the devastation and the indelible impression it left on me. That night as images of emaciated, desperate little Ethiopian children burned in my mind, I laid in my bed and wept and prayed. I was only a child, but I was resolutely determined to help the Africans in their plight. I knew someday I would be there helping those children. I simply needed to find a way to get there. I decided the best way to do that was to become a nurse in order to create a way into Africa and help the people practically. I figured any African country would be happy to welcome a qualified, compassionate nurse like myself across their borders, and I was pretty sure someday I would go down in history books as a modern day Florence Nightingale.

 My greatest challenge in school by far was math. I'm not talking about occasionally needing a little extra homework to catch up; math was another language that I simply never understood. It utterly baffled me. Some days I wondered if the math part of my brain was on a permanent vacation; never to be found again. It discouraged me that I could be so gifted and strong in some areas of my life, and be such a complete failure in another area. Simply put; math made me feel like a dummy. How was I supposed to become God's gift to Africa if I couldn't even balance equations? It was downright frustrating.    

I carried the passion for nursing into my high school years. By then, it was obvious that I would either need a brain transplant or a miracle to pull off the grades in math needed to get into the nursing program at the university of my choice. Interestingly enough though, I was thriving in the arts. I had been singing since I was four years old, and had enjoyed plenty of musical experiences and training over the years. In fact, it was music that usually helped balance out my GPA when math was dragging it down. Little did I know that the picture of this hidden strength pulling me up, when my weakness was pulling me down, would become one of my life anthems.

I eventually was accepted into the BSC Nursing program at the university; but really only squeaked in because my math marks had pulled my average down. Once again, strong in every other subject but so weak in math. I met with the director of the nursing program with great trepidation. Her advice was that nursing would be an incredibly challenging program for me due to my weakness in math, and that my best choice would be to take that awful Math 30 class over again (for the THIRD time!) until I had really grasped it before coming into the nursing program. It was in the middle of that interview that I had a major epiphany: I wanted to be a nurse because I wanted to get to Africa. What I was good at, and what I was the most passionate about though, was music. All my powerful connections with people happened when I was sharing my gift of music, NOT MATH!!! It was such a light bulb moment! I was going after my dream of serving in Africa completely the WRONG WAY! I withdrew my application right then and there in the interview, crossed the street to another college and applied for the music program! You can imagine my mother's surprise when I came home to announce that I was now a registered college student in the music program; NOT in nursing!

It was years later(eight to be exact), that my dream of caring for the orphans of Africa was finally realized. I had the honor of moving to Kampala, Uganda, East Africa with my husband and two young children. It wasn't as a nurse either; it was as a music teacher. I had the privilege of teaching a group of 18 orphans in singing and dancing and taking them on a six month tour across England, USA, and a part of Canada as the Watoto Children's Choir. These children proudly raised support for their peers back at home and awareness about the great plight that AIDS had created in their nation. Hope was their song and they sang it proudly. They were a people that were overcoming with their sound and rebuilding their nation with every note that they enthusiastically belted out.

To this day I am amazed that I got to be a part of that life changing time. My greatest weakness; math, became a thing of the past as I used my strength; music, to serve the people of Uganda. I couldn't have done what I did without it. I learned so much from that time. Especially that sometimes our plans are not always the best, and that God can use our weaknesses to keep us humble and compassionate, and our hidden strengths to make beautiful music.



Sometimes Plan B really does make a better Plan A.

http://www.watoto.com/home

Finding Beauty

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.”   
― Louisa May Alcott





I took the picture up above of the feather one day while on a walk with my son. It struck me as lovely somehow; a soft feather on the dry, cracked ground. It was like it was sitting there as a gift undiscovered. A reminder that in the hard, cracked seasons of our life, there is still beauty to be found and nurtured. I remember thinking how easy it would have been to walk past it without even noticing it. 

 I'm very much a cerebral person. I spend a lot of time in my head bouncing thoughts and ideas around, and sometimes just get lost up there. The problem with being a thinker is that it is easy to miss out on the world around me. In my pursuit for answers, I sometimes miss the beauty and refreshment of the simple things in life because I'm indulging in the complex in my brain.

I'm learning to breathe, to pause, and to open my eyes and heart to what is in front of my face --- take in what is around me. Sometimes my head aches from the over thinking I do, or my heart hurts from the burdens of life. That's when I need to stop and be nourished by the astonishing beauty of the simple. It's everywhere. In my daughter's smile. In the sun reflecting off the snow. In the eyes of the one I love. This beauty silences the worries and refocuses the heart on what is truly important. It is a gift from God. A reminder that He has not forgotten us, nor has He forsaken us.


May your eyes be opened to the simple, beautiful gifts around you and may your heart be made full because of it.