This Moment Brought to You by Humiliation Central

As I was leaving my hairdresser's today she said "You've got something stuck to your bum!". With that embarassed feeling making my stomach feel all yucky, I felt around and pulled off a sticker. Turns out the sizing sticker from the new t-shirt I decided to wear today managed to adhere itself to my behind.

That's just what I need - to go around advertising my ass as XL.

Hold the Phone

So, as it turns out, I'm a grown-up. That happened sometime in the past 10 years without me realizing it.

25 is looming. Looming. I mean it's 6 months away, but to me, that's still looming. 25 means 5 years till I'm 30. I want to marry someone older than me prefferably, which means he'll be even closer to 30 than me. Eeegads.

I've realized recently that now that I'm done my BA (and have been done for a year, I might add), I should probably think about the next step. Logically that seems to be grad school, but I don't feel old enough to be thinking about grad school. Then I realize that if I had done my BA in 4 years like you're supposed to instead of 6, I could conceivably be finished my masters by now and that really makes me shit the proverbial brick.

Let's just back this bus up a bit here and figure out where the hank time went.

My Peace I Give You

I know, I know, I have been a horrible blogger so far this year. I've got nothing in the way of explanation, other than...I just don't wanna. So there. But today I feel like writing a bit and so I will. And then this blog will probably again sit silent until the urge strikes again. So just keep being patient, intra-readers. Keep being patient and keep checking because you never know what might change.

It's been an interesting few months. They've flown by. Like, really. Seeing as I work in a university I still measure time like students do - in terms of semesters. And this semester is done this week. Like, that's just nuts.

Since January I've been on a, how shall we call it, roller coaster journey. It's a whole long story but in January Justin and I began talking about getting back together. It blindsided us both - but it seemed that God had opened doors to at least allow that conversation to take place. Justin was in Regina finishing his RCMP training and so we started by just sending emails. He graduated in February and came home for a week before moving up north to his first posting. We spent some time together that week - that was both good and really tough. We decided to keep moving in the direction of getting back together, but agreed to take it slowly.

We took it so slowly that it just never went anywhere. It was such a frustrating time for me. He had enough distractions with his new life that it was easier on him. For me, that's all I had to think about. And then I'd start to worry and panic - but over and over God just gave me peace. And wisdom. Finally I sensed that it just wasn't happening on his end. Even though I had chosen to open myself to everything that being with him would mean, Justin could never quite get his head there and so last week we decided that our futures are still without one another.

Now we all remember how horrific it was for me the first time I had to break up with him. I never wanted to do it a second time. I never thought I could survive a second one. But you know what? I'm fine. I won't say there haven't been a moment or two of sadness or a bit of anger, but they have been very brief moments.

The best way I can describe it is that I am free. I don't have to wonder "what if?" anymore. I would have wondered forever, I think, if we'd made the right decision the first time around, if we could have made it work after all. Now I know. And it's fine. This peace is so unlike me. I'm a worrier - I feel everything really strongly with my heart and my heart and my head are rarely on the same page. It's a gift that they are now, in this. I can let him go, like really let him go this time, for good. I am free of what has held me captive for the past two and a half years and I can look to the future. I've believed that I could never love anyone again the same way I loved him - and in a way that may be true. They say that you never forget your first love and maybe I'll never totally forget what it was like to love him and what we learned together - because I believe we learned a lot. But I hope that next time, with the right guy, I love differently. I hope that I love with more respect. I hope I love with more patience. I love being in love - there is no feeling like it - and I hope I get to do it again (maybe soon? So much for patience...). But now I have hope that someone else out there is better for me. No more "what ifs?"

I've kept a journal ever since breaking up with Justin the first time. There is an unbelievable amount of pain in there. I've read over it a few times and the weight of that grief is crushing. I threw it out yesterday. No big ceremony, no burning it in a fire in any type of feminist symbolic action. I just looked at it and knew I didn't need it anymore. I didn't want it anymore either - there's enough hurt in there to drown a horse. So I just put it in the trash bag and didn't give it any more thought than it needed. It's over. Finally.

God's peace is pretty good.

Darkness and Light

I really hate the dark. Since I was young I’ve had a rather irrational fear of the dark. Our dark basement terrified me. If I was ever left home alone, my parents would come home to find every single light in the house on. Now that I pay electrical bills, I understand their frustration with me. The worst possible thing you could do is make me play a game outside in the dark, especially the dark forest. My friends tried this in Bible School. I stood on the path swinging a very large branch around.

When I drive in the dark, my eyes don’t seem to work as well and I get frustrated. My house has very stupid lighting. There are not light fixtures in any of the bedrooms, so I have a floor lamp and a string of mini lights – only half of which work. I get frustrated.

I think both my fear and my frustration with darkness stem from my need to be in control. I feel very out of control in the dark, I can’t see very well, I never know what’s lurking just beyond the edges of what I can see. Suffice it to say I would be a very awful blind person.

Have you ever felt as though you are standing in a pitch black room and there is only one small circle of light and you are standing in the middle of it? You can’t see anything past the edge of the circle. This is often how I feel in life.

I’ve come to realize that God is in that pitch black room and that circle of light is His gift of grace to me. I can’t see beyond it’s edges but it lights enough to keep me safe. Even if I move, that circle of light stays with me. When God calls me forward, the light moves with me, illuminating enough of the path that I am safe. I often have fear over not knowing what is in front of me, not knowing what is surrounding me out there in the darkness, but in His light, I can see. And that’s enough for me.

Psalm 143:8 – “Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.”

True Story

Last night a group from church got together. This is the "post-C&C" group, who are too old to go to C&C but don't fit in the "young marrieds" group either. We're figuring out a way to just be our own demographic as part of the church. Anyways, we don't want to be called the "20s & 30s group" so we were trying to come up with an appropriate name. This is part of the conversation that followed:

Errin: "The seniors at my church are called "Free & Easy."

Me: "Is that the widows group?"

A direct line to heaven

It's hard to pray and not tell God what to do. I try to pray for God's will, but I know what I really don't want to have happen and how do I be ok if that ends up being what He has in mind? Last time I prayed about something like this, I was a 14 year old child and things didn't work out the way I wanted. But I have a theology degree now...maybe God will be more inclined to hear me out.

The tears come pretty quick and my heart feels a little like breaking.

My life is a novel?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if my life were a novel. Sometimes I think it is.

I've been reading a ton this summer. I devour books. As I was reading a book from the church library it suddenly struck me how alike my life is to a novel yet how different it is at the same time. One character said to another in one book, "I'm going to marry you, you know." And I thought, "no, sir, you do not know that. the only reason you say that is because the author made you say that. you can be so certain of that only because you are a character in a novel, someone else is in control of what happens to you."

Someone once told me that he was going to marry me. Turns out he was wrong. Did the Author make him say it? I doubt it. The thing is, stuff doesn't end up quite as neat and tidy as it does in books. None of us knows anything for sure. The only one who does is the Author and He ain't tellin'.

I wish I could read ahead in the novel of my life. It's hard sometimes to trust the Author that He's really got it all under control.

Where you shower twice a day - Tales of Montreal Pt. 3 (the conclusion)

It's been hot here in Winnipeg the last couple of days. Yesterday it was rather muggy as well. Nothing a Winnipeg summer has thrown at me has compared to the climate of Montreal. I'm talking humidity to the degree that the moment you stepped outside you felt sticky. Mmmm. Pleasant.

So naturally, let's go walk around Montreal. In the humidity. Don't get me wrong, it was cool to see the city, but did it have to be so gosh darn heavy out there?

We did a lot of sightseeing. Our conference was over on Saturday at noon and we didn't leave for home until Monday afternoon and seeing as our hotel was out in the boonies, we had to find some way to fill our time. So we took a bus and two metro trains down to Old Montreal and walked. And walked and walked and walked.

I've never enjoyed walking much. Usually I would rather just run somewhere. You see, walking for long periods of time makes me sweaty. I don't like to be all sweaty unless I have purposed to get sweaty, ie. while working out. So walking has never been my favorite thing to do, especially in the mugginess. But dang were there some cool sights to see.

I saw the church where Celine Dion got married. Ornate is the word that comes to mind. (this picture was taken by Val Penner)

I saw St. Jospeh's Oratory. Cool building. Lots of stairs. And a heart ensconsed in fermaldehyde. (this picture was taken by Val Penner)

I saw the Olympic Stadium. Looking kind of run down but cool architecture.

I saw the harbor. Lots of boats. Really really nice boats. Like the ones at the yacht club. So pretty.

I saw the cobblestone streets that reminded me of Europe. Oh Europe.

I saw the fireworks. There was an international fireworks competition happening while we were there and we caught the 1/2 hour show by Portugal. Pretty cool but I couldn't help think to myself, There are people dying of hunger in this world and we spend half a million dollars just to blow things up the sky? (this picture was taken by Val Penner)

All in all, a cool place. But did I mention I almost melted???

Where "Jesus" is a swear word - Tales of Montreal Pt. 2

Now, don't get your panties in a knot over that title and just listen.

I learned a lot about the spiritual culture in Quebec while I was there. It's a sad state of affairs. There was a whole lot of church growth in the 60s and 70s there and now it has died off in the worst was. The Catholic church bears much of the blame for this. Did you know that they required women to bear a child every year or risk being cut from the church? Me thinks they took the verse, "women will be saved through childbirth" a little seriously.

In light of the harshness of the church, many people want nothing to do with religion of any kind. If you mention Jesus to them, they run, literally run, the other direction. Evangelism is challenging in a place like this. We met a couple who have started a "church" in their back alley. They do church without mentioning Jesus. Basically they're a presence in the poorest French community in Montreal.

On the second night of the convention we convened on the top of Mount Royal, which overlooks Montrel, for a worship time. This is not a private place; we were not the only ones there. I didn't participate in the small group prayer time so I was able to observe some of the locals. There was a group of three girls, drinkning wine from bottles, who were watching all that was taking place. No, not just watching, they were mocking. The stood beside a group of people praying, wrapped their arms around each other and pretended to pray as well, while their friend snapped a picture. Many more imitations and pictures later, they broke out into the Hallelujah chorus.

They really were being quite ignorant, yet I felt absolutely no anger. Just compassion and profound profound sadness. They just don't have any idea. Oh, my heart just broke for them.

The whole experience atop Mount Royal was...surreal. Now, we all know that I am no evangelist. Not in the slightest. I prefer to live my faith and I am the last person you will find preaching from a street corner. I also try to be sensitive to the needs and opinions of others. So a public worship service atop a mountain in a very anti-Christian community is not going to be my cup of tea. And then to ask me to "yell for Jesus." Now you're just begging me to roll my eyes at you.

How do you think those people felt as we yelled about "the harvest being ripe" (no, I'm not joking, they did) and other Christian slogans. We might as well have been screaming obsenities at them. In their culture, we basically were.

Quebec needs Jesus. I am convinced of that, don't get me wrong. The MB Conference needs people to go and do that work. The way we did it last weekend was not the right way.

Bonjour, Hello - Tales of Montreal Pt. 1

Well, internet friends, it's been awhile. First there was nothing really exciting to write about and then life got busy and I had no time to fill you in. But have no fear, I have not forgotten you.

Today I got home from a trip to Montreal. The Canadian Mennonite Bretheren Conference met there this year for Gathering 2008. I went as a delegate from Fort Garry and also as part of my internship. This was a pretty cool opportunity and I really appreciated it. It was a great chance to network and get to know a lot of people whose names I know but have never met. It was also less intimidating because my parents were also there and my dad was great at introducing me to people. I am well-known through my father who is "famous" in the MB conference. I swear everyone knows him. My sister-in-law jokes that she married into MB royalty. It's really not that bad...

As we touched down in Montreal I felt a sense of awe that there is a whole half of Canada that I've never seen. I also somewhat expected to feel as though Montreal was almost a different country, with it's different culture and language. As the shuttle took us to the hotel we passed a Dollarama and I was excited. Not because I needed or wanted to go to Dollarama but because I was relieved to see a word that I could actually read...

In a way, Quebec is a little like being in another country. First, there is the aforementioned language difference. I was told that pretty much everyone spoke English as well as French. This was not the case at the restaurant where I tried to order my first Quebecois meal. I don't know that I actually got what I thought I ordered.

Also, they drive like Europeans. Lane markings are mere suggestions and we seemed to be quite comfortable taking up two lanes most of the time. The streets too, especially in Old Montreal, look very much like the cobblestone streets I saw in Europe. It was very interesting.

The opening worship service for Gathering was amazing. It was a bilingual service with everything being translated into French which was frustrating in a lot of ways. Two women shared their testimonies. The first was in french and the second was in english. Neither were translated into the other language. So I have no idea what the first woman said. It was so humbling to realize that this is what it is like for many many people. I am used to hearing the dominant language almost constantly. I really don't know what it's like to not understand and it was interesting to put myself in someone else's shoes.

The worship was really really good. We all know I've been pretty spiritually apathetic lately and God broke down some walls during that service. I don't know if I've ever been moved to tears by worship - which is so tragic- but there I was, tears streaming down my face, my hand in the air like a pentacostal poster child, worshipping my Jesus. It was powerful and not something I am likely to forget any time soon.

Stay tuned for more Tales from Montreal...

I told you so

I just happened to see this article on my MSN home page today,

http://www.slate.com/id/2193879/?GT1=38001

I rest my case.

Bags, Bags and more Bags

Here's a couple cool things that cool people are doing.

Bags for Darfur - this lady makes handbags out of recycled fabrics (mostly purchased from thrift stores, etc.) and all the proceeds go to supprt the effort to provde shelter and aid to the people of Darfur.

My friend Leah's sister Jennie is making Bags for Zaza. Zaza is a little girl that a couple in Florida wants to adopt (they call her Zaza because we don't know who she is yet). Jennie isn't buying any new fabric, she is using stuff that has been piling up in her house over the years. Since she is spending $0 on buying new material, all of her proceeds can go towards the family waiting to bring Zaza home.

All of these bags are incredible. There have been many on the site that I have wanted to buy but never got around to actually doing it. Alas, now these bags are being worn by different women around the country.

I think these are really cool efforts. Go check 'em out.

Phobo-mania

I hate bugs. I mean, really really hate them. I wish it were funny, but to me it's not, it's just disturbing. I've never been much of a girly-girl but bugs...I can't do bugs.

It's not all bugs really, I can handle most of them, most of them time. I mean I never like them crawling on me and get really freaked out if I find them in my room or, worse, in my bed **shudder** but I can usually handle them.

Manitoba has a few species of bugs that I cannot handle. I have a paralyzing fear of wood ticks and get the MAJOR heebie-jeebies around cankerworms. These are bugs that I did not know about prior to moving to this horrid province (Note: I know I recently said that Manitoba was home but a)I really only like it from September to October when there are neither bugs nor frigid temperatures; and b) it's the people who make it feel like home...I actually care very little for the province itself). I was not aware that Alberta had ticks or cankerworms although my parents assure me they were there. Ticks are apparently in Indian Battle Park but we never went down there during their season. And there must have been cankerworms because my parents say that I am just like my grandma...if there are worms hanging off the trees she doesn't go outside.

Wood ticks are impossible to kill and burrow their tiny little heads into your skin and suck your blood until they are fat and red. **shhhhuuuudddder** They hide in inconspicous places like behind ears, in your hair and in your nether-regions. People try to tell me that they only live in long grasses out in the countryside. They lie. True, I have never seen one in the city but my friend said he got one from the field across from our house and that's enough for me. I stick to the pavement.

Wood tick season is generally from May to June and as if that's not bad enough, in June the cankerworms come out. They spend all spring eating the leaves of all the trees and when they are nice and full they rappel from the trees from thin strings. So you're walking along and all of the sudden you are surrounded by these little green worms hanging off of the trees. **shhhhuuuudddder**

So you see, neither the grass nor the pavement is safe from disgusting bugs.

Last night I was at a barbeque and I found it impossible to enjoy myself. I was tense the entire time. You see, this yard was well shaded by trees. Cankerworm trees. I could see them hanging down just waiting to land on me. What's worse is that every so often you would think that you felt teeny tiny raindrops on you. Only it wasn't raining. The damn worms were peeing on me. And if that's not bad enough, I would look down and see these little black round things all over, on my clothes, on my plate, in my hair, everywhere. It was raining worm shit too! I wonder how much worm feces I ate last night. I just don't want to think about it.

This is enough to confine me to my house until these bugs are gone. Only once they're gone the mosquitoes come. Thankfully mosquitoes don't like me that much and neither do they disgust me like the aforementioned.

I think something is wrong with me. It's not just a minor annoyance with these insects...I quite literally will just stay in my house to avoid them. Does anyone have any advice? Can anyone just make the bugs go away? Help me.

Good for a Laugh

"No other organism makes a showier display of its sex life than the angiosperm."

Thanks for the tip, Biology Textbook.

The Uphill Journey

Well, things are on the up and up, it seems. I still have a long way to go, but I also realize that this is a life-long journey that I am not expecting to perfect. However, I have made some progress out of the spiritual desert. And for that I am thankful.

It actually had a lot to do with the sermon I've been working on the last few weeks. I really don't enjoy preaching a whole lot. Actually, it's the writing that I don't like. I've always been good at it, but it just drains me and makes me act like I have adult ADD. I don't mind the speaking as much, although the nerves that happen right before are unpleasant. But once I get up there and start speaking I'm just fine. I'm also a good faker so people can't usually tell that I'm nervous. That's a blessing. The last thing I want is to make people feel anxious for me because I'm displaying anxiety. Have you ever felt that? You know the person up there is nervous or not comfortable, or they're really bombing up there and you get that yucky knot in your stomach too? I don't like doing that to people.

ANYways...long detour there. My church is doing a family series right now and I preached on family blessing, based on 2 Samuel 7 where king David tells God that he is going build him a temple and God says "no i'm going to build you a house" which was really a covenant he made with David ensuring the rule of his family forever, which came true with the birth of Jesus, the Eternal King. Talk about family blessing!

I then related this to how God is blessing our family as well...he has created His family and we are members in it. When we think of that stark grace that God is pouring out by establishing his covenant with us, it is overwhelming and we ask, just like David asked, "Why me? Who am I? What makes me so special that God would choose me?"

We are not perfect, but neither was David and God chose him. God chose us. Talk about family blessing.

If you want you will be able to listen to my sermon here. It's not posted up there yet, but keep checking...it should go up this week sometime. I wouldn't say that it's the best sermon I've written, but I would say that it is what God put on my heart to say. Maybe I say it's not my best sermon because I haven't heard a ton of feedback on it and I am insecure still in my preaching abilities and so I feel slightly nervous about how it's all perceived. All that aside, I do feel that this was the message God gave me to say last Sunday and that is all I could ever hope for.

So it was through writing and thinking about this that God drew me back to him. When I finally made the final connection in my brain (which eventually happens during the sermon-writing process) it really stopped me in my tracks. It just kept running over and over in my mind "God chose me. He chose me. He chose me." It was a wonderful realization. I'm not perfect and yet God chose me. And it made me excited about my faith again. That brings joy where before I felt empty.

Getting Back on the Horse

I do have an update regarding my previous post, but I'm preaching this Sunday and my follow-up is closely realted to what I will say in my sermon, so I'm going to hold off a few days until after I've preached it. That way those of you from here who read my blog can hear the sermon first. Call me anal. I don't care.

In other news, I went for my first run tonight in a long while. I have known that I need to get my arse off the couch, but knowing is different than doing. I lost 15 pounds in the first four months of this year. Some of it was the result of hard work at the gym, which was also driven by my post-breakup brush with anorexia (yes, I admit it, to those of you who suspected it, I'm sorry for lying, thanks for worrying about me). Don't worry, I was never truly committed to being anorexic, but I did flirt with the idea. And honestly, I just wasn't hungry and was actually mostly nauseous all day every day. Food really held no appeal. So I dropped 15 pounds. However I did it, it still happened.

And I felt great. I felt pretty. I felt hopeful.

Then I first injured my back and then sprained my ankle and my trips to the gym stopped very suddenly. Also, as my heart finally healed, I was no longer constantly nauseous (thank the Lord). Combine that with a trip to see my Grandma in Alberta where I had plenty of wonderful Mennonite meals and my stomach size has stretched right back out.

I feel yucky. I feel heavy. I feel discouraged.

I know that exercise makes me feel good about myself. I know to be healthy I need to drop a few more pounds, especially with the family genes I have inherited. But sometimes it's just so hard to get off the couch. And it's hard to say no to the second bowl of ice cream. But I must. For me, I must.

In other news, Happy Birthday to my adorable nephew Caleb, who is 2 today.

Spiritual PMS

Is there such a thing? If there is I think I might have it. Somehow I don't think the pharmacy sells an over-the-counter pill for it...

I'm going through a dry spell spiritually. God doesn't feel all that close and it seems like a far hike to get back. I'm having a hard time wanting to pray and when I do, my prayers seem to hit the ceiling and fall right back into my lap. Lately I've been involved in lots of meetings where I am forced to pray out loud. I used to not mind that so much. Now I loathe it. I can't think of anything to say and everything feels so disjointed. Even my body feels weird...my eyes are closed but I feel like everything is spinning. I don't like it.

One of my goals this year was to read through the Bible. I did really well for january and february. I haven't touched my Bible much since then and I know it is a root cause of the spiritual desert I find myself in. But now I'm so far behind I feel like I can't catch up.

This just leaves me so frustrated. I'm working in a church for goodness sake...I'm technically a pastor right now! Pastors aren't supposed to be in a spiritual desert. The mountain just looks so steep...






I am just so grouchy today.

Mmm, ironic?

So God has funny timing. You know how I just posted about how Manitoba has become home? Well last weekend my parents resigned at the church in Selkirk. I don't know where they're going (neither do they) but there is of course the possibility that they won't stay in Manitoba. This place is home, but will it still be home when I'm the only one left here?

Feels Like Home to Me

I've lived in Manitoba for nearly nine years now (including the two years I spent at CBC). Before that I lived in Alberta for fifteen years; thirteen of the those years were spent on the very farm my father grew up on. The last two years were spent living in the house my grandma lived in for as long as I can remember...it was my second home in a variety of ways.

Moving to Manitoba wasn't easy. I wanted to stay in Coaldale, I wanted to keep my friends, I wanted to graduate from the same high school that my dad, sister and brother all graduated from. I wanted to stay at home. For these reasons and more, I refused to allow Manitoba to become home. I bided my time, knowing that I had to endure three years of high school before I could move to BC for Bible college and I had no intentions of returning to this "waste land" as I called it. Alas, financial pressures being what they are in life, and the economy being what it is in the west, I did return to Manitoba after Bible school. And still, Manitoba did not feel like home to me.

It's four years later, and just now am I beginning to be able to call Winnipeg "home." It's not that I think I will stay here forever, because I highly doubt I will, but I have a life here now. I have a church home where I am involved, appreciated and nurtured. I have extremely close friends in a variety of networks, many of whom I can't bear to be separated from for any length of time. I have a house (well, sort of). I finally have allowed myself to feel at home here.

So how come whenever I travel to Alberta my eyes fill with tears as soon as I enter the province? Why am I instantly enveloped in this comforting sense of really being home when I cross the border? Why do I still instinctively know that there is nothing like the Alberta sky? Why is west my favorite direction? Why do I have this hard knot in my stomach, like I'm going the wrong direction, that I'm leaving something extremely important behind that gets farther and farther away with each passing mile road as we head back to Manitoba?

I guess I'll always be an Alberta girl.

Hrmmm

I have three exams this week (for which I have just started studying today...) One exam is on preaching. Another is on my spirituality. The third is on counseling.

Is it just me or are these three of the least testable subjects around?