The Thin Veil to Eternity

We had a full weekend.

Within 24 hours I went to a wedding a funeral.

The wedding was beautiful of course. Tears of sentiment flowed freely. So much emotion wrapped up in that short walk down an aisle.

I used to watch the bride, then I learned to turn and watch the groom. Now, I watch the parents.

Our lives are marked by these moments.

I can only imagine that 1,000 memories of firsts flash through their minds. First words, first steps, swimming lessons, first day of school, first heartbreak...so many summer holidays, so many moments in the very full chapter of life that happens between birth and young adulthood. One small walk down an aisle and an entire chapter of a parents life closes.

There is a ceremony, speeches from those closest to them and my favourite,  a slideshow that takes us all by the hand and allows the parents to show us all how cute those chubby cheeked, spaghetti covered little ones were when they were sitting in their high chair.

Of course there are many happy memories yet ahead, but it is different now. It all changes.

All of the frustrating childhood moments: "Brush your hair, brush your teeth, make your bed, stop yelling at them! Why did you lie about that??"
All of those moments get swallowed into this bigger moment and none of that stuff actually matters at all.

Parents have provided, shaped, prayed and championed these lives since the minute they were born. It represents the deepest love I could imagine. It is the closest we come to loving like God loves.



Weddings give us a chance to say goodbye to one season and say hello to another one, so full of hope and expectation.

It is a full day of emotion for everyone, but especially for the parents.

What a parent never imagines is that they will host a funeral for their child.  In fact, this is what every parent prays they will never have to endure.

There is a ceremony, speeches from those closest to them and a slideshow that takes us all by the hand and allows the parents to show us all how cute those  chubby cheeked, spaghetti covered little ones were when they were sitting in their high chair.

Two weeks ago, a daughters life was cut short. She was 24. She had lived those 24 years with much laughter, but also heartache and deep struggle with invisible enemies that had tormented her from a young age.

Again, I watch the parents. There is a tragic review of the evidence. What could I have done differently? How could I have spared her from this torment? I would take her place in a heart beat to give her another chance at life.

Together, we celebrated who she was. We grieve, but none of us will know the sorrow that her mother and father will carry.

My heart breaks this mother. All she wanted was for us to know how special and magnificent her daughter was. We listened to her weep softly as each of us took our turns sharing our small glimpse into her little girls life. None of us knew her like her mom, but she leaned in anytime we shared how much her daughters life touched ours.

Our tears flowed freely. We hugged and tried to laugh. Our one consolation was that she was now in the arms of Jesus. She loved Jesus in life, she will love Him in death.

As the hymn says "I'll sing with the glittering crown upon my brow, if ever I loved Thee, my Jesus tis now"

It brings eternity to me again.

It reminds me so deeply of the first time I felt eternity enter my world in a tangible way. My mom, with laboured breathing, took her last breath on earth and walked into forever. It was so close, so beautiful, so vibrant.

I wanted to go too.

It made everything here, even the brightest colours, so grey and pale.

I rarely dream of my mom anymore, but I did last night. I think my heart has been closer to heaven the past few days, that is when it usually happens. I was talking to her in my dream, we were walking through a garden and I said "Do you see Him (Jesus) from time to time?" she smiled and said "We don't do 'time to time' here, there is no time, we are just together, always"

It was a funny question that my logical mind would know better than to ask. I know there is no time in heaven and I would imagine Jesus is fully present in ways we could never imagine.

But I guess my heart was asking questions. "All of this matters right? All of this work, all of these moments that we make so much of, do they actually matter?"  There is a rhythm about life, it can't be avoided. Bills need to be paid, alarm clocks need to be set, schedules need to be kept. But that is not life.

I need to be reminded of eternal things.  We don't really live "time to time" but we live "moment to moment" inside time are the moments that actually matter.

In life and in death, love matters. Investments in others matter. Saying what you feel about someone is essential even if it is uncomfortable or embarassing. Goodbyes should mean something and not be brushed over because they are hard.

Life is full of beginnings and endings, we should be good at both. Weddings, births, funerals, they all remind us of what really matters. We need to notice moments when they come, so we don't get swallowed up in the business of the chronological monotony.

When you can laugh until you hurt, do it. Don't hold back.

When you need to cry for sentiment or grief, open the floodgate and let the ugly tears fly.

Chapters open and chapters close.

Death often teaches me to live.

I think that is what makes the death matter. What their lives taught us becomes our textbook and their memory gives us the courage to do things we may have never done.

As Ecclesiastes tells us "Death is the destiny of every man and the living should take it to heart".

Our broken hearts are swallowed up in the wholeness we all long for when we walk into eternity.

In the meantime, we must live. We must truly live.

My favourite quote:

"Now we should live while the pulse of life is strong, life is a tenuous thing...fragile, fleeting....don't wait for tomorrow. Be here now, be here now, be here now"

The sun is shining, the day is waiting. We should grab this day and the people we love and live it. Live big, live strong.

Now if you will excuse me, I have some meals to prepare, hair to brush and cheeks to kiss. We may just have spaghetti, I need some more pictures of cute, messy faces.

Good Neighbours

Every day I wake up and I notice a few things.

I either slept well (more often than not these days, thank you Jesus) or I didn't.

The sun is shining, or it isn't.

There are children in my bed or there are not.

Sometime during my morning routine I open my iPad and look at my email and check Facebook.

This has led me to the understanding that Facebook is like a friend that I am not totally sure why we are still friends.

There are some benefits. For one, when I am done writing this, I will post it on Facebook and you will read it. I don't really understand Twitter, so I don't post there, Instagram isn't ideal either.

But here is the rub. While I truly love knowing that I have childhood friends that are happy and they have raised beautiful families, I equally deplore the constant barrage of manipulative information trying to get into my head and shape the narrative of my life.

For instance, if you only listened to Facebook, you would think that the beautiful town I live in is under siege, it is a dump and no one wants to live here. This is the story because there was a very tragic incident a couple of weeks ago and a man (known to the police) was stabbed by another man (known to the police) and was killed.

Because of this, you would think that the neighbourhood that I live in is so prime for violence that we should never walk outside again. However, I look out my window and see my sweet neighbours who mow their lawn three times a week. When I say "mow their lawn" what I mean is that they both have a lawn mower and they do it together, one after the other, just to make sure it is perfect (this is mildly intimidating, but not violent).

Of course there is always something going on. We chose to live in town, near our work and school. We see all sorts of stuff, sometimes it is unnerving. But, we chose this. On purpose. If young families and concerned citizens all leave, then what?

My neighbour, the husband half of the lawn mowing, power couple, has lived on this street his entire life. He has never lived on another street, never mind a different town. His family owned a home that is now an apartment complex, their first house was right next door. When their first child was born, they moved to the larger but modest house on the corner.

They know everyone. When anyone new moves in, they introduce themselves immediately. They know every landlord on the street and have their phone numbers in case anything goes wrong in their rentals. They make a difference because they live here and they care.

They are my neighbourhood heroes.

They applauded us when we completely renovated our home, they watched as we brought each of our kids home. They knew that my father in law went in for heart surgery and they checked in regularly to see how his recovery was going.

When they are leaving town for a few days they run across the street and ask us to keep an eye on their place. She gives me little extras from their garden because she heard we planted a garden for the first time this year.

These are neighbours I want to be.

These kinds of neighbours save neighbourhoods.

It is so, so easy to gravitate toward the negative. To the doomsday. To the worst.

Sometimes I just want to stand on my porch and yell to all the bad news: "STOP IT!"

Yes, there are difficult and dangerous people everywhere. But there are really lovely people everywhere too. These people live quiet, observant lives and they change their neighbourhoods by asking questions and staying involved.

We all have a vested interest in giving a rip.

This leads me to a few random thoughts about Facebook. I would like to suggest that we can all be better neighbours on Facebook.

Maybe we could all just understand that just because the negative, fear mongering voices are the loudest, does not mean that they are the majority.

Maybe they are just the ones who have enough time on their hands to argue through their computers.

I actually had a little conversation with myself regarding my interaction with Facebook. I made up a few personal guidelines. I will share them, maybe you want to make your own.

1. I don't complain. Ever.

This is a strange one. I actually feel pressure to make sure people on Facebook know my life is hard some days. There is a big conversation that surges sometimes that slams people who only show pictures of their family when they are smiling and having the time of their life. (This is a bad thing?).

I guess I get it. It helps all of us to know that we are in it together, we all struggle, etc... I am just going on the assumption that reasonable people can fill in the blanks.

I have four children. They are all within 2.5 years of each other. The youngest two of those are twin boys. We feel like we are constantly in survival mode. It is hard. We have to pinch pennies and our finances are tight, always. I cry for dumb reasons because I am tired. I struggle through many things that are distinct to me for this season of my life. I am not shy about them, but I am careful where I share them.

When I go on Facebook, for me, it is like walking out my front door. My super sweet neighbours don't need to know that I have self esteem issues sometimes and I am too hard on myself most of the time.

I keep it positive because it is my way of saying "Good morning! Good to see you. Life is good but crazy and here are some pictures to prove it"

It is just my personal policy. I want to make people laugh, smile, think a good thought. I am not here to get attention or pity.

I don't think anyone minds the occasional "hey, today is hard" posts. They unite us and give us a chance to show love. No problem. This is not complaining, this is being real. I am just saying the constant rants, the continual pleas for attention are not always the most neighbourly way to interact.

2. I don't get my news from Facebook alone.

This is a double edged sword. Most of the time, I find out breaking news on Facebook. I can get a lot of information on Facebook that I can't find other places. At the very least the stories are linked so I can follow a trail and read a story that might help me stay current.

I think that personal interest stories are also important. Facebook has provided many previously voiceless groups to find a platform to seek for understanding. For every issue, someone has a story that goes with it. This has worked to help huge concepts find their way into our conversations because there was a picture or a video that we all saw and it disturbed us (the Syrian boy that was washed up on shore).

I think it has also taken the "news" from the main media outlets, and handed the job of reporting to the masses.

The result has been hysteria and information overload. Everyone has a spin, everyone has an agenda, everyone chimes in with the same weight and ferocity.

Sometimes this can make things that shouldn't actually be news into the big topic for the day or the week.

It kind of drives me crazy.

We need to read trusted newspapers. We need to dig a little deeper and know that the things that are clogging up our newsfeeds may be inflammatory but that doesn't actually make it news.

I would also suggest reading books about history so we can anchor our times in the reality of the past.  These days don't make sense if we don't know anything about how we got here. (Did I rant there? I think maybe)

3. I don't argue on Social Media.

To be clear, this does not mean that I don't have opinions. I certainly have opinions. I am just saying that if I care about people and I want to be a good neighbour, I need to understand that good neighbours don't start fights and yell out their doors every day.

I think it is good to discuss current issues. It is clear that things don't come in tidy packages with easy answers, but I fail to see why being aggressive and name calling is going to help anyone.

Debates are important, information exchange is vital. Staying informed is a priority.

I would also say that humility could only help. I can't live like every single issue is mine to conquer every single day. Maybe we could listen more than we rant.

If you wouldn't say it to someone's face over a civilized cup of coffee, you should not say it though your computer, sitting in the comfort of your home.


So, there is Keri Harvey's policy regarding her interaction on Facebook or other social media. Take it or leave it.

I am appealing to the masses, lets listen to the timeless wisdom of Bambi's mom:

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. 

Let's stay in touch. Post your pictures of running that race, and I will promise to cheer for you instead of being mad that you have done a better job of staying physically fit than I have.

Tell us about your achievements, show us pictures when you spilled your coffee all over your car, we can't get enough of it.

Cats aren't my thing, but sure, show me your cute cat doing silly things.

Your family pictures? Your are out on a date with the person you love? Perfect! I love seeing them.

I am glad you are my friend. I am grateful that though I don't get to see you as much as I would like, I get to see your smiling face, doing the things you love to do.

I heard once that shallow brooks make the most noise, deep rivers are nearly silent. This has become a life goal for me. To contribute in a meaningful way, to get better at making my words matter, to be informed and do something. I think we will all agree that the ones doing something about problems wouldn't really have time to sit around complaining about the problems.

I am looking out of my window, into my neighbourhood and the day is calling.

Can't wait to see pictures of you frolicking in the sunshine today.

I'll kick it off with a few highlights of our week. We went to Victoria for the weekend,  our little boys turned 4, and my roses in the backyard are amazing.

You've got this.

As always my thoughts are springing from a conversation that I was having with someone the other day. We were talking about a situation, someone in our life who is simply miserable. I heard myself saying this: "Don't you think that most of success and joy in our life comes from knowing who we are, being content with the package and staying in the lane that God designed for us?"

I absolutely believe this.

Haven't you seen so many people looking into someone else's yard and wishing for their life/home/job/children/personality? Maybe they have even taken it to the next level and tried to live their life by pretending to be that person by replicating their success or mannerisms all the while hoping for the same outcome.

This won't work, I think we all know this. It is so tempting to try.

I do this, maybe you do too. I reach for something new, I dream of some possibilities, my heart soars with the idea that I could do something that matters and actually makes a difference.

Then I look at myself. I take a little trip into my resource room which is made up of my skills, talents, personality, appearance, mannerisms, insecurities, my community or support network,  the list goes on...

and this is where it breaks down.

When I visit this room it is like walking into a house of mirrors. Every image gets distorted and I am discouraged before I even start.

Disqualification is waiting to shut down every beautiful thing.

It is hard, maybe impossible to fight through it. Inspirational words sound so hollow. Be the best you can be and the like.

I want to build but I look at my tool belt and I only see maybe one hammer and a handful of broken nails.

We might as well admit that there is truth to this sense of inadequacy. I will never be 25 again. I can't fix that I wish I had more time in my life, or that I wish I could have started doing things sooner. Never mind wishing that I had the metabolism to fight my weight gain or some magic cream that could fight the wrinkles that are forming on my brow. Let's not even talk about what is happening to my neck. It actually moves when I shake my head, my chin is disappearing into one long neck. I saw it in my mom and the other women in my family but somehow I was so sure I would escape a turkey neck heritage. Can God use a woman with a turkey neck? Maybe I will look online and try to find any famous person with the same kind of neck...

Donald Trump.

This is not looking good for me.

When I look at the professional beauties on TV there is no way to match up. I neither have the time,  the resources or frankly the inclination to know how to keep up with fashion at that level, do "contour makeup" that completely changes the way I actually look, or spend most of my day building my physique.

How could I? Even if I tried, I have four dirty handed little ones that would betray all my best efforts and I would be exposed by the peanut butter on my clothes right at their height. As I type one of my boys is wiping his strawberry covered face on my sleeve. (I kid you not, I have one boy on my shoulders and one trying to climb on my lap, I can't even see the screen. My life is so glamorous).

In every circle,  it is so easy to think that unless you are built a certain way you cannot possibly make a difference or speak to a larger audience.

Maybe it is just me?

I don't think it is just me.

Oh, God please don't let it just be me. You are there with me right? Do you fight the voices? Those voices seem to get louder when I pull my pants on. Oh man, I hate my pants somedays. They betray me, they make me face up to my love for late night snacking.  Dumb pants.

Here is the point. It actually doesn't matter.

None of it matters. I think that sure, it is good to look cute (you know you want to, so do I), but I could never have enough of the right clothes, make up, hair, toned arms,  if that is all that was required to have a message life and hope. Chasing a perfect appearance and prestige is all a house of cards.

Every person knows substance when they see it.

What I have learned, what you have learned, what you have endured,  matters. It makes a difference. Beauty radiates through laugh-lined eyes and soft, wrinkled hands.

Let's redefine the beauty. Let's celebrate it in each other. Let's not just give the thought lip service. The message here is everywhere these days, from soap commercials to the anti- photoshopping campaigns,  yet I still feel the pressure to keep up as though I might be able to out-run the aging process.

How about this instead? Let's celebrate the quiet, thoughtful women as much as we celebrate the loud and gregarious. Let's give room for each one to be valued and their treasure mined out of the depth of the pain and response to God. Let's see each other, and fight the urge to compete or fix.

I will make you a deal:

I will be me, if you will be you.

You be you.

You be you in all your radiance and I will celebrate you, cry with you, laugh with you, champion your causes and believe for your dreams.

You are not a combination of all the people you admire. You are distinct. You are an unrepeatable soul, and we need you. I need you.

You did not weave together your own personality by determination and persistence. You were woven and shaped long before you took your first breath and if I know anything I know this: You have got this.

You have what it takes. Don't try to be me and I won't try to be you. Let's enjoy the differences and invite others into our safe community where women are celebrated and cherished.

This is the best version of us isn't it?

Women who celebrate other women and champion causes for others are my absolute favourite.

It is what we were made to do.

Let's get to it.

Let's be women our daughters and their friends can look up to and want to become. Let's learn from each other and be there through thick and thin.

Who knows if I am the only one who needs to hear it, but it bears repeating:

You've got this!

Leave it all on the floor

We just finished the bedtime sprint. I have a love/hate relationship with bedtime. As with many things in parenting, I have ideas of what something should look like but the reality just feels like a deeply troubling science project that went horribly wrong.

When I imagine bedtime, I think of sweet interactions with deep questions being posed and attentive ears ready to listen. I think this imagination has been fuelled by some well written books about parenting. There is a definite sense that bedtime can be a magical world of family bonding. 

Enter my reality. There are four small children, all bearing the last name Harvey, that have just finished dinner and fuelled up for what can only be described as nighttime hysterics. They have been instructed to stop running laps around our upstairs portion of our house and to retire to the basement of the house where bath time will commence. This seemingly simple idea takes at least 20 minutes. Everyone needs to run just one more lap, they need to tell me something, they need to tell daddy something (or some-phing if you are Samuel Harvey), they need to gather some supplies and play one more time with the toys they haven't touched all day. 

Once we are downstairs, they need to do a naked lap or two. This is a real thing in our house. It is some kind of primitive exercise in exhibitionism mind you, but it is a real thing. One of our children, a boy, not named Samuel, takes a particular delight in this little ritual. He throws his clothing and restraint to the wind and off he goes at full speed with the cutest little bottom in town running circles around our basement. No neighbours can see in at this point, so Shawn and I take this moment to hug each other and rally our strength for phase two of the bedtime ritual.

Once all children are gathered and placed (or dropped depending on the night) in the bathtub, the bathing process commences. While the children are in the tub, we gather jammies and towels and listen for the sound of the inevitable tsunami that will occur and result in much tongue clucking and scolding about how we are not at a water park, and this is not a slide. 

"OUT OF THE TUB, ALL OF YOU!"

One by one, freshly towel-ed bodies are paraded to their bedrooms where dry pyjamas are pulled over wet skin, with instructions like this: "Focus please, you need to focus. Come back here. no more naked laps, we are done, get back here. These Jammies are fine, you wore the other ones last night so they are in the wash. I know Isaac usually wears these but tonight you get to...lucky you! These Jammies, these are fine. Stop moving, hold still, I can't get this over your foot...." 

Now I am sweating and there are three more. 

Now we brush our teeth. Some genius called Mom decided that it would be fun to buy toothbrushes that light up for 60 seconds while they brush so they know when to stop (they really should run these ideas by actual parents in real time, but no one asked so here we are). The overhead lights have to go off and we have a full blown toothbrush disco party in the dark with lights flashing and some teeth getting clean while mom and dad are just trying to figure out how to keep things moving along. 

Now we spit.  This is disgusting. Children who cannot reach the sink should not be spitting. We have pink and blue toothpaste and by the time we are done there are pastel ribbons all over the counter and basin of the sink. 

Ok, to bed! (I can see the finish line from here, but I feel the bedtime magic pressure right here, right now) 

I want our kids to be readers. This is the time to make it happen. We should read books, they should read books, we should talk about Bible stories and ask questions like "how do you spell Zacch-ee-uss?" We should sing pretty songs and have deep eye contact while leaving the door of opportunity open to hear about any difficulties or heart issues they might be experiencing. 

This is where it should happen and sometimes it does. Sometimes, I have the best of mom moments and we have meaningful discussions and we giggle and feel so rich. 

Other times I sing at super speed, its the full song, but double time. Or I read the most simple book, or we turn their bedside lights on and they can look at books while I wander around my basement trying to find the energy I lost in the last 30 minutes. 

Sometimes, I have nothing left so they get a "Jesus we pray for a good sleep, all good dreams and no bad dreams in Jesus name. Goodnight girls, love you so much, stay in bed OR ELSE." kind of bedtime routine. 

Here's the deal. On those nights, I think I have nothing left because I left it all over our house. I hear athletes telling each other to "leave it all on the floor", and that is what we do. All of us. Everyday. We leave it all on the floor. 

It is our messy living room floor where we ate toast for breakfast while watching Daniel Tiger's Neighbourhood. On top of the toast crumbs are the Hot Wheels cars that the boys played with right next to the dolls and the blankets that were carried out of the playrooms by children who just wanted to be near me. 

Today, all of my energy went to feeding them and keeping them alive and hopefully happy. 

I have a hard time remembering where my time goes when I am home with them all day. I do remember that I got climbed on, elbows in my legs as they made their ascent up to my lap. I remember that my toes got slammed into with their ride-on cars as they drifted around the corner in the kitchen. I remember that I navigated all four of them trying to "help" me make smoothies this morning, each one trying to be the first to push the button and I was just trying to get the lid on before there was smoothie on my ceiling. At one point I heard water running, (never a good thing) I went into the bathroom only to find that Alina had coached Samuel up onto the counter and had his head in a sink full of water because she wanted to give him a "bow-hawk". He also managed to knock a picture off of the wall and break the frame. It was a little hard to get mad at that dripping face since he was so proud of his hair do, so I just passed on the whole getting mad thing. 

I also remember that each of them, in their own special way found time to tell me that that they loved me. Samuel comes through the room, walks by, backs up and says "Mommy, I just wuvf you". Isaac climbs over the back of my chair and lands upside down on my shoulder and with a yelling whisper that sends shivers down my spine says he loves me too. Alina makes me cards on anything she can find and writes her signature "Alina love Mommy". If she is particularly affectionate, she will find an envelope and put in the mailbox while I am freaking out about why the front door is open. Emma will climb on my lap the moment I sit down, every time, and snuggle with me. It is our favourite thing. 

It all sounds so fuzzy and sweet as I sit here in my quiet house. I smile to myself just thinking of them. Their sweet little filthy faces and their mischevious ways. Today it felt like they had 4 sets of hand each. They were busy. They were crazy. They woke up ready to keep me fully employed in crisis management all day long. 

On days like today, I just wonder what their memories will report when they get older. I wonder what they will remember of dinner time, of bed time. I always worry that they will remember my low moments when the crazy version of mom ruled supreme. Of course I hope they will remember the times that I had the energy to sit and read and have meaningful conversations with them while they were tucked sweetly in their beds.

Either way, I will remember them like they were today. Wild, energetic, loud and all mine. 

Tomorrow we start again. They are early risers, these Harvey kids. We clock in around 6 or 6:30 every morning. One by one they will make their way to our bedroom, climb painfully, with elbows and knees everywhere, onto our bed. We will snuggle for three or four glorious moments and then it begins: 

What is for breakfast? Can I have the iPad? How come I never get the iPad? Mommy get up. I need to go potty. Daddy, can I have some water? Can I have some water RIGHT NOW?" 

sigh. 

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

I will miss these years. I already look at videos and wonder what happened to my toddlers? They have been replaced by semi-articulate little people that are full of thoughts and sentiments that surprise me daily. I will miss the madness. Although I am sure those of you with older kids will assure me that the madness just takes on different forms.

                                                                                      I will take my madness for today. I have left it all on the floor. I am going to bed a satisfied, tired, bruised and sticky mommy. 

Tomorrow? Bring it on!

Free writing #1

When I was in college I took a writing class. I enjoyed it so much I repeated the class in my last year just for fun. It goes to show you that you never quite know when something you are obliged to do, such as taking electives in college, turns into a joy.

In this class I learned about a practice among writers called free writing. It includes writing, ahem...yes,  WRITING with a pencil (I used to have a dent in my long finger from writing)  in a spiral notebook. The idea is that you write without editing yourself and see what happens. This would include some very strange side thoughts while landing on whatever topic you were writing on. This proves to be a fun, and random wander through all the things the writer may be thinking about. It is a bunch of nonsense that usually ends up being a roadmap to a good thought. Who knew this would become a foundation for almost every other creative process I would find myself in in the years to come.

It is similar to brainstorming, you throw out everything that comes to mind without edits. As you review you throw out the bad and keep the good. The benefit in writing is that you can come across some really nicely written phrases if you don't break your thought by wondering if it is a good one.

Anywhoo...I kind of thought it would be fun to free write every once in a while. If you are not interested in the day by day stuff that is going on, you may want to stop here. But if you are up for a funny little drive through my memories, read on. I think in the original instructions for free writing  said not to worry about paragraphs, spelling or even punctuation but that bothers me so I will include said helpful reading tools. I may not capitalize, sorry about that.

Here goes:

January, what day is it? 17th, Sunday. I am normally at church but three of the four kids are sick so here I am, at home again this Sunday. Samuel so happily declared himself to be feeling better as he chugged half of a water bottle downstairs, then proceeded to vomit the entire contents immediately. best part? he did the deed then kept walking right on top of it as though it never happened. that child is irrepressible.

alina went to church with her dad, she is a quality time kind of kid so that is a treat for her. at last text, she was quite happily climbing all over shawn revelling in his entire attention span. he of course is trying to participate in worship, but that is not going to happen. emma has dandruff.  i don't know how to treat that in kids, i will look it up after i am done here.

i have much on my mind these days. i am actively working to rout out discouragement from my life. i really dislike how it gets under my skin and robs me of everyday function. I will spend some time on that soon and try to plan out how to fight it more effectively.

right now the kids are fresh out of the bath. my favourite, or my fr-ave-rite if i was isaac. they love the tub and i appreciate its wet-play-pen affect so i can get some things done. also they have been sick so this is a nice reset to the smell in our house. tomorrow we disinfect.

it cracks me up how involved isaac gets in shows. Wild Kratts is on TV right now, some whale chasing some shark and isaac is up on his knees yelling at the tv "NOOOOOO!" when one of them is about to get eaten, I forget who is lower on the food chain. oh, the orca. they just said it. it cracks me up that we talk about the food chain in our family. actually many of the things we talk about in our family crack me up. This is my key to enjoying parenting, humour. kids are hysterical or annoying, depending on how you look at it.

alina has decided that yelling will be her weapon of choice when it comes to fighting with the others. this often backfires. the kids push and push her, then she cracks and they just look at her like "whatisyourproblem?" then she becomes the problem. i totally get it. how is it that i apologize when someone else blows up? I don't know, but i do it all the time. me and alina, we get each other.

i sat down to watch videos of the kids the other day. the beauty of videos is that i am not as tired as i was when i filmed them. it is pure nostalgia and i wish i could reach through the screen and squeeze those little faces and kiss those little cheeks. but it is still fresh enough that i remember being crazy with sleep deprivation. i am glad for the look back but i sure appreciate being well rested.

it also makes me love my little tribe so much. they were all so little. emma was not even three when the boys came, alina a little 17 month old, they were babies and i thought they were so big compared to the boys. those boys sure made some good big sisters. even now they lavish them with kisses and talk to them like they are babies and try to nuzzle their necks. this is not welcome to the boys but it makes me smile.

smiling. i love smiles. i love secret smiles caught on strangers faces. one day we were at the grocery store and when i put ice cream in the cart both boys put their arms straight up in the air like they had scored a touchdown and yelled "ICE CREAM". I giggled of course but so did about three other ladies in the frozen food section. i feel like these are the little ways that we all help each other get along in life. we share our communities together, we will never see each other again most likely, but today we share a funny little moment.

i love it when couples go grocery shopping together and they are teasing each other. it reminds me of when shawn and i went shopping for the first time after we got married. our house didn't come equipped with cleaning supplies, an ironing board or scotch tape, so we were off to the store. while at the store, shawn decided to make the most of it by annoying me, since he DOES NOT LIKE THE STORE, that is his emphasis not mine. so my cart was slowly being filled with essentials, flour, windex, etc... his was being filled with marshmallows, and an ironing board. while wandering the aisles he would yell two rows over at the top of his lungs "KERRRRRIIIIIIII - DO WE NEED NOODLES???" I would look around innocently and make a face like "someone's husband is cray cray". When we met at the front and paid out our $375.00 I looked in his cart and he had not one, not two, but three kinds of HOT DOG RELISH. I don't even eat hot dogs. I couldn't imagine on what planet we would need three kinds of hot dog relish. His response? Well, my parents always had three... it made sense, so three bottles of hot dog relish it was. these same bottles of relish made it to the move out of our first house four years later. i actually had a hard time throwing them out since they made me smile everytime I looked at them.

I love that guy.

I need to pay attention to my children and the laundry so off i go. Thanks for stopping by.

Meanwhile here are some fun pictures of when we were first married:

my favourite picture from our wedding

he is tolerating me here

It is blurry, but I love this picture

I am here, I have been here, I just went quiet for awhile. Here is why:

It is the New Year. I am not sure what the simple turn of the calendar actually does, but it seems to make us all feel like it is time for a fresh start. The criticisms for resolutions aside, I welcome the chance to evaluate and reflect on what is working in my life and what isn't.

I haven't been blogging. I am not sure why, I think somewhere in my internal wanderings I decided that it wasn't really that important. I forgot why I did it so I stopped. If I got really honest with my insides I think I would have to confess I gave into some fears and insecurities. It is a vulnerable thing to put your thoughts out for the general public, such as it is, to read. Now that I think about it, I seem to remember reading a few popular blogs and enjoying them, only to go on to read the comments and think "Yikes! The internet public that sits in their own spaces and throws spears are pretty ruthless" I think I thought if that ever happened to me it would be very hurtful. (I haven't escaped great criticism, I just haven't made it to the big scary world with my blog where people forget that a human is behind the words)

Which leads me to an observation about insecurity and courage. I don't believe for a moment that people don't struggle with insecurity at some level. We all show it differently, some wear it on their sleeves, some are passive aggressive with comments, some sit in the safety of their home and criticize someone who took the time to write down their thoughts. Insecurity doesn't work well in a vacuum. It always wants someone to share in its misery. I think sometimes we feel small in our insecurity, so the reasonable course of action seems to be to puff ourselves up and roar. It is not a cure, it is just wearing a different outfit.

Insecurity and I have been in the ring for most of my life. There have been whole seasons of my life that I would describe myself as "paralyzed with insecurity and fear". When I tell people this they seem surprised. Overall,  I am confident, I can speak or sing in front of large crowds, I usually have clear thoughts and I am not afraid to share them. This of course does not mean that I don't worry that I have said the wrong thing, hurt someone, or worry that at the end of the day they don't like me or respect me.

I only say this to explain that it doesn't matter how bubbly, confident or strong a person looks, I believe we all struggle with the same questions: "Am I doing things right? Am I loved? Am I enough? Am I too much?"

Courage then, is the ability to turn it inside out. To stop caring primarily about what people say or think about me and focus on how I can help them, love them or encourage them. That may not sound courageous to you, but it sure does to me. Being others-centered is one of the bravest things we can be.

This brings me back to the purpose of my blog, which I forgot in the midst of my little bout with insecurity and fear...I started writing because I love writing. I love the idea that something that I think and take the time to write out might resonate with someone, even one person.  In that moment, we are friends, maybe partners working together to figure out what life is all about.

I also love to tell stories. Isn't it funny how the things we love to do become targets for doubt? Here is the truth, I feel silly telling my little stories. I hear a voice in my head saying "Is that all you've got? A story about your kids at the aquarium? It is simple, it is cliche, people all over your Facebook page are rolling their eyes right now" It feels simple, boring, like a big inside joke that no one feels like they want to sit through.

Back to courage. In this year, I am going to start blogging again on a regular basis. I am going to write what I like whether anyone reads it or not, whether I can hear the collective rolling of the eyes or not. I will acknowledge that people don't have to read my ramblings. If I am not their cup of tea, they don't need to drink it.  I am going to write anyway and I am going to enjoy it. I am also going to push the "post" button, because maybe one of those blogs may help someone just like me that day to know that we all have our stuff and we are in it together.

I confess that one of my greatest joys is when someone sees me and says "I read your blog, it made me laugh (or cry)" In my own way, it makes me feel like I am helping.

One final note***I have talked about insecurity enough to know that most people will see an honest confession as a pull for a compliment. I super-duper absolutely do not mean this to be a cry for attention. I really mean it as an explanation for the handful of people who have, in passing, over the last few months said "Hey! you haven't blogged for awhile".

In the weeks to come, you can expect to hear my sappy, funny stories about how much I love my kids and how I am so grateful for my husband.  I will wander through the boxes of my brain and work on thoughts that will help me and hopefully you, work out our stuff together.

I am looking forward to our visits.

Most Sincerely,

A bold, fierce, insecure, intimidated, overcoming lover of God

PS: I am going to work on punctuation this year too. I need to figure out the semicolon; I am not sure how to use it; I am terrified of all those grammar nazi posts and wonder "what in the world do they think of my ....and "" and paragraph breaks at random places because I am feeling like you might stop reading if I don't give your eyes a break. Sorry about that. (not sure it is going to change)

Meanwhile, here are some sweet pictures of our Christmas:

Seedless

How about this for a random thought? The other day I was making plum jam. It takes a little bit of effort because you have to pit the plums to get them ready for the rest of the process. The whole thing can be a bit mindless, so I found myself thinking about seeds. Then watermelons. Then seedless watermelons. Where did seedless watermelons come from anyway? Why aren't other fruits seedless? Who thought to do that? Why did they do that? Are you following so far?

Why would they make watermelons seedless? Because seeds are inconvenient.

I snorted a little to myself with the realization. If ever there was a picture of a selfish generation it is the seedless watermelon. Isn't that what you think every time you eat a modern watermelon?

There is so much right going on in our generation (I mean the people breathing air on the planet right now), I will never be a doom sayer or a "what happened to the good ol' days" person. These are great days to be alive.

But try to have children and see what kind of conversations you get into. Or, for example, try to take your small tribe of 6 to an ice cream parlour and watch a 70 year old couple take one look at you and your little army and rush to cut in line so they don't have to waste their time while each child decides if they want bubble-gum or strawberrry. This is a true story from my summer and it isn't an isolated one.

Some people struggle when children enter the scene. I totally understand.

They are loud.
They are demanding.
They can be aggressive.
They are so, so messy.
They are indecisive.
They don't let you sleep when you want to.
They don't let you sit down when you want to.
They kind of require that you are the grown up, and you don't really get to be the spoiled one. Kind of, ever.

They point out, seemingly at every turn, how much their presence requires me to "get over myself" and do what is right for them.

It almost seems easier to just not.

Why would we put ourselves through this? Day after day. I am a feeding, cleaning, negotiation machine. I am tired and overwhelmed often.

What is the point?

The point is that in every way, I am a better person because I am a parent.

My desire for comfort and prominence are a never ending machine that will never be satisfied.

I want new furniture.
I want a new kitchen.
I want to sleep through the night and take naps on a fairly regular basis.
I want to be successful.
I want to be noticed for my giftings and talents.
I want quiet.
I want to go to a restaurant without apologizing for the mess on the floor.
I want my home to stay clean.
I want to read a book, all day long.

I could go on, but I think you see. I, I, I. Me, Me, Me.

I don't have to work to be like this. I just am. I have to work to NOT be like this. The kids just help me see it ALL DAY LONG. EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE.

I have to say that it isn't just having children though. If you are going to care about others at all, ever and learn to put others needs above your own, I promise you will have an uphill battle.

The truth is, we could be seedless. We could let our lives continue to be filled with very little trouble or inconvenience. We could pad our life in such a way that nothing disturbs our space or time with its loud announcement that we are not actually the epicentre of the universe. Or we could press into the inconvenience. We could understand that fighting for our own rights really just makes us fussy, angry people in the end anyway.

Maybe this is why Jesus said in Luke 17:33

"Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it."

I feel the press in me all the time. Will I seek to save my life - or the way of life that I think will bring me the most joy? Or will I allow myself to give my life, my time, my gifts, my value, to others and trust that my needs will be met as I meet the needs of others? 


I value life. I especially value four particular miracles that can, at times, cause me a great amount of discomfort. But I will not be seedless just for the sake of a few more naps every month. 

I pray that we will all take a few minutes to look at the "inconveniences" in our life and see if they are put there to make us into the person we actually want to be.