Raw

So, when emotions are raw, you feel deeply. Peeling back the protective layers of pride and expectations, you become vulnerable, laying it all out there.

Every now and then I feel raw.  But I have needed to feel raw. I have needed to let myself feel what needed to be felt. As the days have moved along, there have been some great moments and some tough moments. As I have reflected on the raw emotions of these days, I have realized a couple of things.

I feel a bit like Jekyll and Hyde.  Some days I am rejoicing with my kids, other days I am crying with them.  Some days I am encouraging them and proud of the steps they have taken, other days I am frustrated that they aren't trying harder or more being committed.  I so desperately want them to make the jump from Mississauga to Orangeville, to find home here in our new community.  I know there is so much that is good about our new adventure. Good for our family, good for our new community, good for each one of us. I love our new place - our new home, our new church, even our new Walmart! :)  We truly could have the best of both worlds - a wonderful group of friends we have moved away from but have not left behind, while also making new friends and tackling new challenges and continuing to make life great.

But I have to let them do it in their own time and in their own way.

     Transitioning is a process and it requires courage and grace, 
                                                                                     strength and compassion,            
                                                                                               determination and perseverance. 
All are necessary in life; good things to learn; great things to become awesome at. My boys are becoming awesome at these things.  I see them change and try and dig deeper and learn to be more than they were, more than they could have been had we stayed put. And for that I am thankful, even if they don't see it that way.

There is grief in the leaving, but there is also joy in the journey.  We are all becoming people we weren't before, these thing are stretching us and changing us, bringing us to a point of dependency on God for strength, courage, and faith.  Faith to believe that what we have done is right - for all of us.  There is great comfort in knowing that
                       "suffering produces perseverance; 
                         perseverance, character; 
                         and character, hope. 
                        And hope does not disappoint".  
How awesome is that!  Hope does not disappoint!!  

The Adventure of moving has worn off.  Nine months in and what was an exciting and new adventure for our family has become a deep seated reality.  This is life - this is our new life. A life we have been called to, a life full of new people, places, experiences and promise. There have been countless affirmations that this new life is the life we are supposed to be living, and we continue to live those out.

God has been gracious with his surprises!! His mercies continue to be new each morning.  We search and we strive to figure out what it is He has called us to.  God is good, and I am...

Blessed Beyond Belief.

Invisible

I want to tell my kids that they are not invisible.

I want to tell them that they are seen and loved.  I want them to know that the other high schoolers sitting in their classes who are choosing to not see my sons are missing out. They are missing out on a friendship with a loyal, caring, compassionate and fun boy (or two, or three, or four).

I want them to know that my heart breaks every morning they head out the door for school. My mother's heart would do anything to protect them and provide everything they need.  But the fact is, I feel powerless to change it and them and those others who choose to not see the goodness and depth that exists within my boys. I just feel angry that it is still hard, that it is still not wanted, that it is not what it used to be.

I grieve all that was lost and I cry. I cry a deep cry that acknowledges, perhaps for the first time, the hole that exists within me because of what no longer is. I feel my heart crying, "Oh God, what have we done?"...knowing full well we did exactly what He asked us to do.

It was a transition of obedience.  But it was hard.  Honestly, it is hard.  Three months in, and I am tired and just wish it was all easier - the whole thing: life, work, school, friends, family, sports...

Moving has been the hardest thing we have ever done. It brings comparisons between what was and what is, and between who was and who is. It is a chance to grow and depend on each other and on God. But it is also a daily struggle of hoping each day is better than the one before.  Often it is two steps forward, and one step backward. I am very thankful for those who have helped us take the two steps forward each time, because there have been many! And I am also thankful for our church youth groups who have welcomed our boys with open arms.

Transitioning is a process and it requires courage and grace, strength and compassion, determination and perseverance. All are necessary in life; good things to learn; great things to become awesome at. My boys are becoming awesome at these things.  I see them change and try and dig deeper and learn to be more than they were, more than they could have been had we stayed put. And for that I am thankful, even if they don't see it that way.

But as I watch my son watch everyone around him I think, "Can you see him?  Can you just turn around and notice the boy standing alone behind you?"  I'm scared because I know that my boy is hurting; he is lonely but he is trying; he puts one foot in front of the other each morning and for that I am so proud of him.  He joins new groups and teams in an attempt to find a friend, someone who likes him for who he is, someone who laughs at his jokes and acknowledges all he is.

Someone who sees him.
Because he is not invisible.

He is loved and known. They are all loved and known.
I know that, and I pray that they know it too.

If These Walls Could Speak

"Hey Friend! Let's just --- Exhale. Let your shoulders drop and feel everything slow..." 
(Ann Voskamp, this morning.  Thank you!).

Fresh words, feeding words for a tired body and soul.  More than anything else this, this is what I needed to do this morning.  More than a visit to the gym (which is not a bad idea!), more than downing that extra cup of coffee (also, not necessarily a bad idea!), I needed to slow down...relax...breathe in the blessings that are today.

The boxes are mostly packed...mostly.  Where clothes used to sit in drawers, they are now empty.  Where toys used to sit on shelves, they are no longer.  Where medicine used to wait to heal, it is an bare cupboard.  Where hockey equipment used to gather, there is an open space.  Where boys' beds use to sit, waiting for sweet heads to fall asleep from the joys and burdens of the day, those beds now lie stacked in pieces against walls.  The same walls where pictures used to hang, telling of family and love and life and reminders of blessings and loved ones here and gone and gone around the world.  Walls that are now blank except for tiny holes left from hooks, reminders of where memories once hung.

Walls that, if they could speak, would tell many secrets of laughter and tears and struggles and victories. 

Walls that have been our house - our home - for many years.  Walls that saw children born, fevers broken, lessons learned, bodies healed, championships won, friends made, meals enjoyed, pets loved, tears wiped, hearts comforted, laughter heard, prayers answered, patience groomed.  Walls that will forever be woven into the fabric of our family.  I am reminded of a song that Amy Grant recorded a number of years ago (and I remember it with fondness because it was the one song that I (thought I) could play on the piano and sing to at the same time...my apologies to my family for that!!).  The lyrics talk about all that walls are witness to and they speak to us a great reminder of all that a family home is.   If These Wall Could Speak...

If these old walls
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remembered well
Stories and faces dearly held
A couple in love
Livin' week to week
Rooms full of laughter
If these walls could speak

If these halls
If hallowed halls could talk
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun going down and dinner bell
Of children playing at hide and seek
From floor to rafter
If these halls could speak


See, as I write this, my family is preparing for a major transition. In four short days our lives will all change.  My pastor husband of almost 19 years has been called to leave the place our family has called home for 18 years, to begin a new ministry, in a new church, in a new city.  Among the multitude of changes that will occur, we have also had to purchase a new house.  A new set of walls.  A new framework for family life, love and ministry.   A new place to make memories in.  We have purchased a new home.

As poignant as that is, I need to remind my heart that these walls, these houses, our home (old and new)...it is but a temporary home for us.  Sure it is meaningful, it is well loved, it is a piece of what shapes us into who we are because it is the place where lives, big and small, are formed and made and have grown up.  But they are just walls.  Walls made of plaster and wood and nails and painted and repainted to our liking.  Our real home, our permanent forever home, is being prepared for us, is waiting for us and it has been built by One who loves us more than we can imagine, One who calls us his child, One who calls us...home.  

And, oh, if only those walls could speak.