Because I haven't written for so long, I want to write about everything... just fill you in. BUT... that would be boring. So, I'll just fill you in on yesterday.
We had been up late with the kids, so I let them sleep until they were done sleeping. When they did finally get up (9:30, I think) we had a leisurely breakfast... cinnamon toast and fruit. We discussed the previous weekend's workbee. All the adventures, the slave labour, the growing relationships.
We had the elders coming over for lunch... and I hadn't prepared my menu. I asked the kids to tidy each room on the main floor while I ran to the discount bakery for bread. When I came home, most of the house was finished... and Derek was doing the dishes. (This always scores major points with me. I love a clean house - especially when I'm about to cook!)
My menu came together when I found Cheesy Kaiser Buns at the discount store: Broiled Chicken Sandwiches on Cheesy Buns, sliced veggies and dip, chips... and I cheated on dessert: Butter Tarts. All in all, I think the men enjoyed their lunches.
The kids and I stayed upstairs where I filled in applications and details on transcript requests.
When the elders left, I picked up my keys and headed off to the "Junk Store", otherwise known as the Nanaimo Recycle Center. I found a pile of men's dress shirts that I needed for paint smocks for the kids who will attend our Bible Camp this summer. Score!
While I was there, I received a call: my computer that had been in the shop was ready for pick up. Woo Hoo!
I told Derek I'd pick him up on the way... we had an appointment to see an old house that was for sale.
On my way home, Derek opted out and asked me to pick him up after I picked up the computer... so I went to the computer shop alone. "Eccentric Dave" replaced my laptop's power supply, DVD player, and battery for only $60. I love that man. (Just don't tell my husband.)
As I was pulling out of the shop, a Native kid rolled up on his bike with a big grin... he wanted to talk to me.
"Do you like crab?" he asked.
Apparently he and his brother go crabbing every day... I asked for the address where he'd be selling them... he was quite happy.
But before I drove to his home only a few blocks away, I went home to pick up Derek. (The kid was disappointed to see me drive away.)
Derek and I had made an appointment to see an old house that had a "For Sale" sign in the window. (Earlier in the morning, I called a good friend who is new to the Real Estate business to see what kind of information would be available on the house.)
We pulled up and the owner greeted us.
The old house sits atop a hill overlooking the ocean. It's in a terrible neighbourhood with the Needle Exchange Clinic just across the street. However, many of the old houses all around it are being bought up and restored... with hopes that there will be a revitalization in Old Town Nanaimo. I'd like to be a part of that project.
The house was built in 1902 and had been separated from one Victorian home into a duplex. The man showing us the home was only the second owner. He'd bought the house in 1995 at an estate sale. (For only $105K!)
He told us how the old lady "Mrs. Couture" had been born there in the downstairs bedroom... and died in that same room at the age of 89. Her father had been a Pharmacist, and her mother a Teacher.
The house has most of its original features. None of the cabinets were removed, windows were still there, the old tubs. Everything was in pristine condition. The man and his now ex-wife had been working on it for the last few years... she demanded that all the original woods, floors, everything stay the same. However... she did paint the whole house in some awful rust colours. Different shades of the same rusty, red dirt colours.
The current owner is a carpenter by trade... and apparently enjoys woodwork. The house has touches of his style throughout. (I hate to say it out loud, but his additions look clumsy and out of touch with the period. If I bought the house, much of his work will have to go! Though, I'm certain someone out there will enjoy it!)
He when we entered the front room, and entry area, he told us a story of how during renovations his wife was in the next room... and suddenly he heard a shreek!
"Jim! Oh my God! You have to see this!"
Jim was busy trying out a painting technique in the next room's closet and didn't want to be bothered. He'd been at this home for months and was ready to see it done.
"Jim!" she insisted.
Jim pulled himself out of the closet... "What?" He was mildly annoyed.
"Jim... I just saw a ghost!" she continued. "It was a little girl holding a blanket and crying... she was right here. She looked at me!"
He told the story with wide eyes. Then he directed us to the closet he had been working on.
He said "When I returned to the closet, you will not believe what I saw."
"Take a look for yourself!" He opened the doors and let me in.
I walked in and looked to my left. The whole closet had been painted a deep earthy rust colour, but one patch was left white with a painting technique - rag rolling.
"What do you see?"
It was dark in the closet... I couldn't make anything out.
"Look at the bottom. Do you see her?"
He gestured to the patch of splattered paint. "See the eyes, the nose, the sad mouth, the hair?" I did!
He continued "When I got back to the closet, that's what I saw too! It gave me goosebumps!"
I was tickled to see an older man tell and believe ghost stories.
Zion's eyes were wide as saucers. In his mind we'd already bought the house... and he'd moved into this room. "Forget it, someone else can have it!"
Too bad, though. Jim had made the top of the built in closet into a loft for a boy!
We enjoyed the tour and the history. The kids admired every old lock, secret doors to the basement, window latches and stories. Jim had even found old glass prescription bottles in the garden out back.
It's a beautiful home that has my mind going... BED AND BREAKFAST!
We shook Jim's hand and took a business card.
We piled into our van and headed out.
"I LOVE that house!" Chante' gushed excitedly.
No big surprise there... Chante' is Victorian at heart.
We started to return home... chatting about the house and it's potential. What we liked, loved and hated. (Number one on the hate list was this awful black tile in the upstairs bathroom with rust and green and yellow splotches... looks like each tile had been assaulted with reject paint.)
Half way home I remembered the crab! I turned around and proceeded to tell Derek about the boy we'd met.
We pulled into the housing area the boy had told us about. No one was standing around. But, this part of town was Indian Reserve, and I knew if we got out...we'd be met with curiosity and could find the boy selling crabs.
Sure enough... the boy stuck his head out from the far apartment. He was still grinning and raised his hand timidly. I waved back.
He greeted us and directed us to his milk crates that held 15 crabs hostage. It was the end of the day... and this was all he had left.
He asked if I'd like them cooked or live. I chose live... but I needed some direction for cooking.
An older gentleman came out of the apartment... we chatted about how to cook the crab and how to retrieve the meat from the shells. I think he was concerned we'd waste the crab so he offered to cook them for us and shell them... "for just a few dollars more". I smiled and assured him that this was an adventure for us... and we'd like to cook our own.
One by one family members trickled out of the house. All timid. All smiling.
We paid the boy his $10 for three Dungeness Crabs. He immediately split the money with his brother. The boots were still hanging off the table. I asked about crabbing and he told me how he and his brother go out every morning.
"When the tide goes out, it's really easy! You just pick them up like this..." He grabbed the two hind legs and hung the crab upside down, rendering the fighting fellow useless. "He can't get you like this." The boy was grinning even wider.
We shook hands with everyone there. Chatted a bit. After a while the grinning boy says to me...
"We're having a birthday party tonight... and we'll eat these. But, we have crab almost every night. You guys should stop by one of these nights and eat dinner with us."
Immediately I felt at home. I was back on the reserve. And the thought of sitting around a table too small for the family there... picking apart crab... laughing and learning ... just sounded like heaven.
I promised we would.
We started to leave... and the littlest one... a chubby boy who looked about two years old wished us farewell...
"Bye guys!... Bye!" He waved.
"Bye guys!... Bye!"
"Good bye, little buddy!" I waved back.
"Bye guys!... Bye!" I don't think he was going to stop.
He continued from the porch as we hopped in the car with our cardboard box full of crab.
"Bye guys!"
We headed home to cook our crab.
It had been an adventurous day. Old houses, ghost stories and crabs.
A half hour after returning home, dinner was on. And big, bright red crabs sat on our delicate plates.
We thanked God for our blessings, and asked for wisdom...
And we feasted... snapping one leg at a time.

Epiphany - 4 dictionary results
e·piph·a·ny   [ih-pif-uh-nee] Show IPA
–noun,plural-nies.
1.
(initial capital letter) a Christian festival, observed on January 6, commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi; Twelfth-day.
2.
an appearance or manifestation, esp. of a deity.
3.
a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.
4.
a literary work or section of a work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight.




I suppose whenever I see the word "Epiphany", I expect something absolutely profound or earth shattering to be revealed in this very small humble moment.
It won't happen this time.
But... many things have been revealed to me over the last several months. And, as things settle in my mind - I'd like to share some revelations with you.
I am not by any stretch of the imagination an intellectual. But, I do think from time to time. And that, dear friends, makes me dangerous.
I was thinking the other day (you really ought to brace yourself when I say that)... I wonder what it is about Christianity that people find so unpalatable these days? Is it the church going? I mean, come ON! It's an hour a week! Buck up!
Is it the preaching? Seriously... you and I have sat through drier monologues.
Is it the do-gooding? You have a heart, don't you?

I don't think it's any of those things. I think it's this: The Box.
I think that even the most devout atheist may even entertain the idea of God... even agree that there is some cosmological entity in control of the universe if it wasn't for this Box we try to put God in.
God is massive, huge, unfathomable... we use big words like: omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent to describe him. (Those big fancy words make us feel special, don't they?)
And unbelievers sense that. They sense the bigness of God!
And we (by "we" I mean church people) place that HUGE God... in a wee little box. We tell folks: IF you are to access the almighty God, you must do it here (in this wee little building) at this very specific time (10:00am is preferable) and in this very specific way (sing, pray, listen, give, partake). And there is NO other way. Just this one. Any other way is not ordained and is likely a trap from the devil.
And our atheist friends are saying: "Huh?!" "Isn't God bigger than that?" "Can't I relate to Him any other way? Or do I have to jump through YOUR hoops to access the all powerful, all knowing, almighty God?" (And we answer with a blank stare.)
And we stand outside our boxes like bouncers. Checking folks in. Throwing folks out. (This one's saved. This one's not saved. This one can stay in the fellowship. This one's different, she's outta the herd.)
Can you see how they see it?! What have we done?! Is this what God intended?
Is it no wonder they think we're crazy? We don't actually believe what we profess to believe about the bigness of God.
In fact - we're not even sure he's big enough to save us. We doubt our own salvation... and each other's for good measure! We cast doubt on the goodness of God, the ability of God to save the soul of a sister whose knee didn't go under when she was baptized.
Silliness.
Foolishness.
Hypocrisy.
Mmm... don't' get me started.
Big God. Little Box.
I think we suit ourselves with the piece of God that makes us most comfortable in our little boxes. The piece that looks like the better version of me.
I don't know about you. But I want out of the box.
I want all of God... which I realize... is gonna be more than I can handle.
But hey... He wants all of me too.
-Jen-

I feel like we're turning this Titanic around!
January's nearly over and I've made a few decisions that have already caused changes in my life. I laid out my values and goals... and shared them with a good friend and accountability partner.
My life, my living has been on "cruise control"... and the direction I was headed wasn't where I wanted to go. Not really.
This is MY life. MY God-given life. No one else's.
Stay in touch. You'll see what God and I are up to.
-Jennifer-

I have a huge pot of chili simmering on the stove, and my cup of Earl Grey tea is steeping next to me. My kids are entertaining the neighbourhood children outside... and my husband is at the church preparing this Sunday's sermon.
Am I a product of my upbringing? My dad was a Southwesterner (see: chili), my mom's family is English (see: Earl Grey tea), I grew up in a ministry family (see: kids' hospitality), and we are a 3rd generation preaching family (see: hubby's sermonating).
Much of what I do and why I do it I can accurately attribute to my noble, and sensible upbringing. The values we possess, the goals we try to attain... even the recipes we share.
The family I grew up in - the Williams' - valued Family! Loyalty. Togetherness. Sharing. Hospitality. Radical Faith. (By radical, I mean they actually DID what they professed to believe in!) They also valued Thriftiness, Common Sense, Honesty, Fairness and Self-Education.
And I would dare say I have continued in trying to live that way.
And now, as an adult with half-grown kids of my own... I am facing the new year, new decade with an opportunity to re-examine our direction. Where are we? Why are we here? Where do we want to be? How will we get there?
I could continue doing what I've always done, the way I've always done it... and hope for the best. But after a bit of thought, I realize that our lives need a little fine-tuning. Redirection.
It was a surprise to me to learn that an airplane is off course nearly 80 percent of the time. Much time in the air is spent making minute, but very important direction changes.
So it will be with the King Family.
It's not that I am preparing to throw off everything I've ever learned and embark on an entirely new journey... for we have planned to be where we are doing what we are doing for a long time. Rather, I'd like to fine-tune our journey. Hone in on what is best - most glorifying to God.
(Excuse me while I put the cornbread in the oven.)
We are not in a rut defined by generations past - though we are influenced by them! We are never free from our history - though I choose learn from it! Our ancestors were no fools. They've suffered more, worked harder, accomplished more in their years than I could ever hope to in the years I have left!
And it's their sheer determinism that inspires me. Their values that motivate me. Their faithfulness that drives me.
But I will take the path that God has laid out for me. Carry the torch he's given me. And while I receive a weathered torch carried with worn hands, my light will be to a world that has grown dark because it has forgotten the values of the Greatest Generation... a Generation that loved their God.
But, I'll do it my way. In a home provided by God... with children that God has blessed me with... and age-old family recipes that have my own distinct flavour added to it.
My chili is not made with pinto beans as dad would have liked - but made with the thriftiness that mom would appreciate. The cornbread is a little sweeter. The Earl Grey tea a little darker. The kids have come inside to warm up and play video games (unheard of in my day), and hubby seeks solace when he studies...
God's plan. Our flavour in the recipe.
Hope He likes it!
-Jennifer-

I expected to talk mere kidneys and ultra-sounds with my South African doctor today. We talked that... and we talked Newtonian Physics versus Quantum Physics and... Jesus.

Our conversation moved quickly... as they always do... from subject to subject. Issue to issue. And, as we discussed pain medication, I expressed my aversion to them - citing a family history of addiction to alcohol and drugs.

The good doctor quizzed me, "In my experience there is always an underlying factor to addiction. Some kind of depression or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or anxiety. Why are they addicted? Do you know?"

I told him I didn't know. He looked at me... and cocked his head to the side waiting for a better answer. I told him I had just met them this summer, and didn't know their history... but I guessed.

"I suppose there's something to it... perhaps sexual abuse." I lowered my voice. "It's what happened to me. It's why I was removed by the province... when I was six."

A tear surfaced and betrayed me.

I clenched my jaw and willed the threatening tears back to their reservoir. Why was I weeping? I think about this all the time. I'm dealing with it. I had been so matter-of-fact in my approach... my thinking. Why the emotion NOW?

"What did Jesus teach about Quantum Physics?" the doctor asked.

I wiped my tear... and looked at him confused. I struggled to find an answer. I have answers for everything.

"He taught that we live in the physical world, but that the real world is spiritual." Good enough... I didn't know what he was getting at.

The good doctor began to speak...

"The Old Testament was a Newtonian Physics system. What goes up must come down. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.' It was good, but not good enough. Not complete. Not until Jesus came."

I had never heard the Old Testament compared to Newtonian Physics before. I wondered what he was getting at.

His voice was kind-hearted, but resolute. "When Jesus came, he did away with all of that." He swept his arms across the air. "Jesus brought Quantum Physics to our lives."

He leaned forward, "You know Quantum Physics, Jennifer?" I nodded.

He answered his own question,"Breaching the Time/Space continuum. Time travel... things that we cannot do now... but will do soon. Things that we struggle to see even with our best imagination. THIS is what Jesus has brought to us. Not 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth', something better, bigger, unimaginable. Complete forgiveness."

He went on to tell me about his President Nelson Mandela... his writings on forgiveness. He shared his passion for African American Gospel music... their songs of slavery and their understanding of true freedom. He explained that my life had been on a wave - a tsunami - but it was 30 years ago... and that it's time to get off that wave and choose a new one... one that would take me where I want to go.

He told me to take off my shackles now. And dance.

The tears began to spill freely, and I was at a loss for words.

There was quiet in the room for just a moment. My mind was swimming.

The doctor returned to his duty and wrote up a prescription and explained it to me. We set up appointments for referrals as I pulled a tissue from a tiny box.

My tears continued uninterrupted for the next hour as I headed home. Not sobbing, just a quiet cascade of sorrow mixed with gratitude.

The good South African Doctor has begun a healing process of my heart and soul. His prescription? Jesus. The treatment? Forgiveness. The prognosis? Good.

-Humbled-

I was going over some math homework with my son. He was frustrated that he was making simple mistakes in his math, and it cost him the right answer.
"In math, you don't get points for trying, you only get points for getting the right answer." I told him.
My mind immediately went to some missionary training I had when I was a youth. The director taught that you must get ALL of your doctrine 100% correct ALL of the time, or you'd not make it to heaven.
He used the following illustration:
"Suppose you're at a train station at lunch time, and your train leaves at 12:25pm. You look up at the clock and you see that the clock says it's 6:00pm. You know without a doubt that the clock is wrong, and begin searching for a new one." (He was alluding to false doctrines that are OBVIOUSLY wrong - how easy it is to discern and not be lead to hell in THAT handbasket.)
"But, let's suppose that the clock is only a few minutes off. It's four minutes slow. You may be inclined to trust that clock... but end up missing the train!"
(His illustration was meant to keep us alert to even the smallest error, lest we miss heaven due to a mistake.)
I took issue with that and challenged him in my very idealistic, naive 17 year old passionate way. We agreed to disagree.
But, all these years later... I wonder. Where's the grace, forgiveness and mercy in that? How can I possibly know ALL the correct doctrine ALL the time? Little old me? Is there room for God's mercy in my flawed understanding?
The scriptures say there is:

"Let me put it another way. The law was our guardian and teacher to lead us until Christ came. So now, though faith in Christ, we are made right with God. But now that faith in Christ has come, we no longer need the law as our guardian. So you you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus. And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have been made like him." (Galatians 3:24-26 NLT)

There's comfort in his grace.

And if my understanding of doctrine is as flawed as my understanding of mathematics... I'm grateful for that grace.

-Jennifer-

I was lamenting to a new friend today about how badly I miss my old friends. How I love what I've got here, but starting over can be so hard.
And... it seems as time passes, I have forgotten how good those friendships really were. Time and distance have altered my memory...
I figured they'd moved on. Life just kept going and as my presence faded, my value as a friend faded too.
Today I read a friends' blog... and I don't know how I missed it before... but in it she expressed her sincere appreciation for me. She was generous with her words. So thoughtful and kind. It touched me...
And I wept.
I forgot that people miss me as much as I miss them.
I forgot that people mean as much to me as I do to them.
I forgot.
But now I remember.
And I won't forget again.
And now... as I'm making new friendships... I can know... that they are real... even if they're temporary. And I need to BE real, and unreserved.
So that I can have good old friends... now.
-Jennifer-

How much of my life is lived in fear?
You'd be surprised to know...
I'm afraid to speak my mind, in person and online... because I'm afraid my husband will lose his job if I do.
I'm afraid to tackle tasks... even mundane ones... if I can't do it perfectly.
I'm afraid to confront some that I love... out of fear of losing their affections.
I'm afraid to love the friends I have... in case I let them down.
And... this fear... it's purpose? I suppose it's to prevent disaster.
But disaster's already here. I've created the very thing I was afraid of: loss.
My ministry suffers - I'm not the "smile and nod" type. I haven't been genuine.
My household suffers - tasks undone, events passed, moments neglected and tensions mounting.
And my friends... become distant as the wall seems to be a permanent one.

So no fear.

What I lose is what needs to be lost. Any life lived under the stormy cloud of fear is a life that hasn't lived to it's fullest glory...

It seems the clouds are parting...

-Jennifer-

Every now and again I find myself caught up in a rather heated political debate. I rather enjoy the discussion... but afterward wonder if I've stepped on toes.
Some have called me a bulldog.
But I prefer "spirited" or "passionate"... ya know?!

So, a lot has happened:
School has started up again.
My oldest son is in private boarding school a thousand miles away.
I met my bio mom.
Stuff like that.
-Jennifer-

It's time to start writing again. There's so much going on... and sometimes I just need a place to let loose and express myself.

Now...
What to say...?

My fingers are stained with various paint colours. Cerulean Blue, Black, Lime Green. I suppose I paint when I need time to think and at the same time find it necessary to keep my hands busy.
The finished product looks somewhat like a backdrop for one of Tim Burton's movies. I didn't intend for it to... but I let the piece move in it's own direction.
In the meantime there was so much to think about... so much to write about.
My mind is brimming with past conversations, conflicts, worries and troubles.
::Sigh::
If I could just get my mind to turn off. Always thinking... always wondering. Always conversing with God... always pondering things to great for me.
I suppose - like life - the painting didn't turn out the way I planned... the way I wanted other people to see it... but it did reflect the condition of my spirit.
The question is: Will I let people see it?
-Jennifer-

So, I'm up painting tonight.
No particular reason.
Or so I thought.
I had a grand idea. I'd already finished one painting (see above), and was going to do another. Earlier today, I'd sketched in the final details of the second of two frog paintings and even outlined the artwork.
But, when it came time to paint the second one, I was struggling. I messed up so many times. Paint was too thick here. It wasn't blending there. I tried different mediums - water, blending gel... different brushes. Nothing worked.
So, I did what most artists do on a white canvas background. I used white paint as my "eraser". Very carefully, I dipped in a tiny brush and painted around my newly and beautifully sketched artwork. My mistakes were in the background, and needed to be erased. The white went on smoothly in the larger areas... but as I neared the sketched and inked work... my hands shook and I spilled over the lines. I didn't like it, but I continued. I spilled more. I was frustrated... but I continued. Using different brushes and angles, I desperately tried to cover all of my mistakes.
It was no use. The white paint was now piling up and making a textured line around the artwork. Not what I had intended.
Then... my mind cleared.
"You gotta do what God does with you, Jen - a complete do-over."
Reluctantly, I picked up a fat brush, dunked it in white paint, and painted broad strokes across the small canvas. I deliberately went over my sketched and inked work (the frog). And... there was peace.
All of the mistakes I had made were gone. In an instant. And, all of my "saving it" was for nothing.
A complete do-over. The areas that were riddled with mistakes were now clear. The outline is still barely visible underneath the new white coat. Something I can finally work with!
Isn't that how it is with us?
We make mistakes. Several of them in a row. Hoards of them.
Then, with everything we have, we attempt to clean it all up ourselves. We struggle, we research and try new methods, we try new angles at the same old problems. And... in the end, we get the same, ugly results.

God wants to do a do-over with me, with all of us. He wants to use the broad, wonderful brush of forgiveness... a fresh start.

I'm grateful for this midnight lesson. God is good.

My white frog is drying now. And my blog is posted.

Ever wonder what goes on late at night in Jen's dining room? Now you know...

God's giving her painting lessons.

When I was little, dad used to recite poems at the dinner table. This was one of my favourites...
Love and miss you, dad.
-Jennifer-

The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert William Service, 1874 - 1958
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
that 'he'd sooner live in hell.'

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight
in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and 'Cap', says he,
'I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
won't refuse my last request.'

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
then he says with a sort of moan:
'It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold,
till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread
of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you swear that, foul or fair,
you'll cremate my last remains.'

A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn;
but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,
because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
'You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you,
to cremate those last remains.'

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --
Oh God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay
seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,
and it harkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice
it was called the 'Alice May'.
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then 'Here', said I, with a sudden cry,
'is my cre-ma-tor-eum'.

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,
and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared --
such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
ere I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:
'I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked';
. . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
and said: 'Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear,
you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've been warm.'

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

"I have the pleasure of..."
There was some hesitation.
"... sharing his bed." She finished the sentence, and continued "I get to lay next to him every night."

Friday night we were invited to a friend's 40th birthday party. My friend had just come back from a surprise trip to Paris with her husband - and her dearest friends were throwing her a party when she returned. The house was filled with all sorts of people - younger and hip. Older and refined. Middle aged and friendly. No children. The liquor bar was busy, the exquisite food table was not. The music was drowned out by friendly chatter.
When we arrived, we were immediately greeted, glasses placed into our hands and introduced to lovely people. A middle aged, handsome man chatted with Derek. I joined the conversation.
Paul was a good friend of the birthday girl. He had done all the tile work in both this house and their Lake House. He was a construction kind of guy. Down to earth. Likeable.
A young lady walked up beside him, and Paul introduced her.
"This is Ashlee."
She was young. Barely in her twenties. Probably his daughter.
We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. I learned that she was an interior designer. She'd grown up in Singapore and was well traveled. She fidgeted and touched her hair as we spoke.
Derek asked - "So, how do you know Paul?" gesturing to the stone-worker.
"I have the pleasure of..." she looked down and then up at my eyes again "sharing his bed". She forced a smile and struggled to find words. "I get to lay next to him every night."
Was she his girlfriend? Is that what she was getting at? He probably hadn't made it official, but was enjoying all the benefits of having a doting young woman at his disposal.
I didn't let the words hang in the air long. It was already uncomfortable. I smiled, touched her arm and moved on to other conversation.

But, those words hung with me after the party was over. The awkwardness for her at that moment. She had settled. I could sense the disappointment and the difficulty in finding a label for their relationship.

Some people say they don't need commitment or labels for their relationships. But I really don't believe that. I believe every man and every woman really want something significant. True connection. Something more than just physical. We all want soul-satisfying relationships. Ashlee did. I could see it in her eyes.

This couple had settled for something less. They're playing a sort of Russian Roulette of the heart. Risky business. And all for what? Bragging rights? They'd been unconventional. But at what cost?

I think the price is more than she can afford. And, in that moment - when she looked down - she was aware of it. I think we all were.

-Jennifer-

In an effort to be "really real", I must take a new stance on several things:
Blogging - be authentic - let the readers read it and make up their own minds.
Friends - seriously - you only have a few real ones. Nourish those. Forget the rest. (It's not like they're gonna DIE without you!)
Image - you are what you are. Your body, your home, your thoughts. Quit hiding!

I'm searching for purpose in writing here again.

Haven't lost inspiration. Just nerve.

On one hand, I hope people read it.

On the other hand, I hope it's people I don't know - so I can speak my mind.

Yeah.

I know.

Tell me about it.

-Jennifer-

Today, my stony heart has been cracked. As though tapped with some sort of magical tool. One that can penetrate even the hardest of hearts. The swell of emotions that threatened me had to be re-routed, ignored, pushed down - and still it's on the brink of overflow. I have been distracted by it all day. What happened?

I was forgiven.

And old friend contacted me today. Completely out of the blue. A name I hadn't heard in 15 years - and didn't expect to hear ever again. But, the name alone conjured up a mix of wonderful and difficult memories. A relationship started in innocence, and then twisted and ravaged by cruelty, hurt, resentment... and then ended in deafening silence. Time didn't heal this wound. This wound that I inflicted on another... and on myself.

It was a brief, pleasant... and straight to the point conversation.
"I hurt you. I'm sorry"
"You hurt me too... and I forgive you."

Forgave me.

The words echo in my mind. A simple, short relationship. Long time ago. Long forgotten. No one remembers me from back then. I didn't matter. I meant nothing.

"You hurt me."

The words didn't accuse... they weren't meant to harm or blame. It was a fact. I'd hurt someone. Me. The wallflower. The free-spirit. I'd been careless... unthoughtful... even hurtful... I caused real pain. I was stunned. Me? I was free-falling.
But before guilt could kick in and do it's damning work... the words that followed...

"I forgive you."

Immediately I was saved. Snatched from the free-fall. I was safe.
I was safe, and didn't deserve it. I was at the mercy of the forgiver.
And, then. It was over. The conversation was done as quickly as it had started.

My mind has been restless. The wrinkle in my forehead (the one I get when I think too hard) had moved in - threatening to stay permanently. I was distracted. Calm. Serene. Peaceful. Distant. And, every once in a while - misty-eyed.

I had mistakenly believed that I was the only one wounded. I was the one being challenged to forgive. I suffered. Me! I was preparing myself to "grant forgiveness" to those who had caused me to suffer. I had a list! I'd been praying about it... reading about it.

But first... God wanted me to experience forgiveness. Reminding me of my own participation in life's cruel games. Reminding me that I too, had been a player.

And, today - I was forgiven.

Today, because of an old friend - an unlikely connection... I am understanding just a little more about forgiveness.
I am humbled.
I am not worthy.
But I am forgiven.

And my stony heart is broken.

-Jennifer-

Simplicity.

I've been making biscuits a lot lately. I make the world's best buns - two kinds! But lately the simplicity of making biscuits has appealed to me. I've served them at breakfasts, lunches and suppers... and never without complaint!

I suppose my switch to simple, uncomplicated, delightful, homey biscuits is a reflection of just how things are going at home.

Homeschool has started... and with it, excitement with new books, delight in learning something new. But after all these years of homeschooling, this year I've decided to try a new approach. Instead of the "six-subject-days", I've decided to work on one subject at a time. The worries about retention levels went out the window when I discussed with my sister her success in homeschooling her eight kids. (One of whom graduated Magna Cum Laude in University.) She has her kids work on one subject - finishing 10 pages per day. And mine are too.

My kids toddle off to their study area of choice - a bed, a well-lit desk, or the dining room table - and count out their ten pages. And, as new concepts challenge them, they come to me with questions. Homeschool can be done in about 3-4 hours for a typical student. Longer for those where cursed with my inability to sit still and think about anything for too long.

But homeschool isn't the only place where simplicity is settling things down.

Breakfasts are at exactly the same time every morning. I write the menu on the kitchen chalkboard so that the kids will have a clue what to set the table with. Lunches are identical - sandwiches, veggies and fruit - and a granola bar or dried fruit treat. Suppers are quick, uncomplicated 3-4 menu items.

Chores (or duties) are listed in my household notebook with some detail about my expectation for how they are to be finished. Perfection isn't required, but great effort is certainly appreciated.

Our schedule has been simplified as well. One church event mid-week. One skill-builder (piano lessons will start soon). One apprenticeship (trade preparation for "real life"). That's it.

My interests - arts and academia - are pursued when homeschool is "out". Fitting my fitness in is my next challenge.

Simplicity. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It's as easy as biscuits. Fewer ingredients, less time in the kitchen, more time enjoying the product of your work.

Here's my recipe:

2 1/4 cups flour

3/4 tsp. salt

1 tsp. sugar

4 tsp. baking powder

1/3 cup frozen butter (use cheese grater to "cut" butter)

1 cup milk

Sift dry ingredients together. Toss in grated butter. Toss lightly. Add very cold milk. Stir with fork until just blended. Toss dough onto floured board. Knead 10 times. (Any more and you'll have tough biscuits - and you want to keep the dough very cold.) Roll out to 3/4 inch thick. Place on ungreased cookie sheet in a preheated 400F oven. Bake for 12 minutes or until top is lightly browned. Serve plain, with butter, jelly or sausage gravy!

To reheat biscuits, place on a cookie sheet and cover with aluminum foil in a 350F oven for 10 minutes. (Microwave makes them soggy, uncovered makes them dry and hard.) Baking fresh biscuits is so easy, re-heating yesterday's seems hardly worth it.

-Jennifer-

It's been stifling hot this August. Not hot in the traditional "it's 100 degrees outside" - for it's only been in the nineties. But - Canadians generally don't have air-conditioning in their homes, and even churches and stores. It's been a humid 90 degrees for a few days. The sun goes down, but the air hasn't moved in weeks.

So, it's been hot.

Today was especially overbearing - the rain was threatening to come - but first we had to endure thick, oppressive, stuffy humidity.

The last several nights we've slept with just sheets leaving the doors and windows open. The kids have called me into their rooms late at night asking me how they can cool off, and wishing that they too had a ceiling fan in their rooms like Derek and me.
But - I reminded them - we also live on the second floor. It's even hotter up there.

Tonight as the sun was setting between the clouds, a huge rainbow lit up in the sky. And not just one or two - but as our family gathered on the porch, we counted four rainbows in one and then another a significant distance above that. FIVE rainbows! Glorious!

I stayed outside a moment longer and relished in the cool breeze flowing over the mountain. The rain is coming - and with it - relief!

My weeping willow tree is moving for the first time in what seems like ages.

I've realized that I'm still a cold-weather person. I've never acclamated to the regions I lived in - Arizona, Arkansas and California - because I stayed where it was air-conditioned and was careful to never be caught in heat's immobilizing trap. I remember rushing to the van and cranking up the air-conditioning as high as it would go and praying it would just hurry up as it blew my hair back. And, within a few miles it would deliver. And the walk from the van to the store seemed like the green-mile, but when the doors parted, the air-conditioned blast was ever-so- welcoming. And in reverse, the walk to the van was hot and brisk and the desperate rush to get the air-conditioning going again was on...

Most of the year here has been without the need for air-conditioners. Even on hot days you can step into the shade and find the relief you're looking for. Or, if you still find it too oppressive, there's always a body of water a quarter of a mile away - whether it be a river, lake or ocean. And no matter how hot the day, the breeze off the ocean is always the right temperature.
So, I'm not complaining in the traditional sense. I think I might be appreciating the rest of the year through the lens of these few weeks.

I lamented that I didn't have enough memory on my camera left to take a picture of that rainbow. I was reminded that I could use my cellphone to take a picture and so I did. And walked away. A few minutes later as I prepared to send the picture to my mailbox, I realized I had failed to "save" the picture... and rushed out to take another snapshot of the rainbow...
But the rainbow was faded and nearly gone - and now just a memory...

All of our doors and windows are open this evening. We're sure we're going to freeze and have to get up in the middle of the night to close up the house. But that will be a welcome relief.
We'll all return to our beds and pull the comforters up from the bottom of our beds...
And snuggle in their warmth.

-Jennifer-