Church Mothers

I had the privilege of growing up in a Finnish-Canadian church. At the time, I didn't really consider it anything that remarkable, but in looking back, it really was. One of the things that I now realize was very special was the strong female role models that I had growing up. Finnish women are strong, opinionated, and determined. The church was actually founded by two women; that alone tells you something. I knew both women growing up and they were amazing. They were already seniors by that time, but they walked for miles, they drove, they preached at church, they were forces to be reckoned with. So were the other women at my church. A lot of them worked outside the home. Many of them were educated and had degrees. Even though they were not in leadership roles per se, they were definitely leaders. There was never any question in my mind about whether they were equal to or as good as the men. I love that.
It has been said that it takes a village to raise a child. I feel like I had that village and it was full of strong women. The church mothers knew me. They encouraged me, they scolded me, they were involved. They were there for me and I'm grateful.

Old Ladies

I like old ladies. I've blogged about it before. One of my friends half jokingly said that I collect them. I don't really, but then again, do I? I've always thought myself pretty weird for befriending old ladies. Who does that as a child? Now that I am 45, it doesn't seem quite so strange, but it still isn't within the expected normal. I've always played it down or been slightly embarrassed by the fact that I have friends that are decades older than me. But lately, I have been wondering if this is actually by design. What if God created me to befriend and encourage older women? What if encouraging and walking alongside women older than me is exactly what I am supposed to be doing? In the last few years especially, I feel like there are a few older women that God has purposefully placed in my life. He may have placed them in my life to encourage me as well, but I know without a doubt that they have been "placed" and not just somehow accidentally become my friends.
This morning, I had an interesting chat with a woman from BSF. She is in her 70s. Her and I have never been in the same discussion group, but our groups have combined several times over the last two years. She is one of those people that from the first meeting I thought; I like her. Anyway. She came up to me after discussion group today and said that she has always enjoyed my sharing and that I am smart and wise and she'd like to get to know me. It was unexpected to say the least, and rather humbling. Who am I that she should say such kind things to me? But it did bring to mind again the thought that maybe I am called to this. It sounds so serious and weighty, but I really do believe that God is orchestrating and leading our lives a lot more than we think He is. He cares and he knows what we need. Maybe old ladies need me and I need them?

Spark

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us." Albert Schweitzer

Lately, the flame within has been lit through reading and listening to podcasts. I have been especially inspired by Sally Clarkson and her daughters Joy and Sarah. They co-authored the book Girls Club, which was one of those life-altering books for me. But each of them also blogs and has social media accounts full of interesting and thought-provoking insight. It's so thrilling when someone or something pulls you out of a blah, beige funk to reignite your flame. Since I am such a book girl through and through, it's not surprising that this would happen via a book. But I have also been inspired by Sarah's poetry readings, Sally's podcasts on parenting and Joy's podcasts on art and music. 

Lent

I have marked the season of Lent every year now for quite a few years. I have given up various things over the years in an effort to fast from something as a way to mark Jesus' death and denial of self. This year has been a little different. I have still given up some things for Lent, but this year the season has taken on a slightly different meaning. Lent is not only about fasting, it's also about feasting. Yes, it's marked by death and denial, but it's also about resurrection and life and beauty and reawakening. So, this year, I have noticed myself feasting as well as fasting. Interestingly, the feasting has come almost by accident. I did not set out to feast on anything in particular, but somehow organically (through the working of the Holy Spirit?) I have been feasting on music and poetry. I listen to music a lot, mostly on Spotify. But during this Lent, I have been really drawn to hymns, to songs of lament and Scripture. I have also been reawakened to the beauty of poetry. I started following this one woman on Instagram who posts one or two poems every day of Lent. I have been enjoying her read alouds so much! There's something about the simplicity and emotion of poetry that is so different than reading books. Below, is one of my favourite poems thus far during Lent:
God's beloved dust,
fabric of the universe-
of planets newly discovered
and ruins ancient, broken
and us.
God's beloved dust,
we'll walk into wilderness
on a Wednesday-
a wilderness of words
and want
and wonder,
a wilderness for the wise
and the weary.
God's beloved dust,
ushered from pew to pastor,
the will pause.
Eyes averted
or closed
or resolute in meeting mine,
an awkward encounter
breaking the boundary of space-
to touch another's face
and to mark it mortal.
God's beloved dust,
thumb to forehead,
brokenhearted,
breaking with tradition,
I will say
to God's beloved dust-
...Remember you are God's beloved dust
and to God's beloved dust you shall return.
And we will watch and wait
to witness what God can do
with God's beloved dust.
(Austin C. Shelley)

Like Jesus

Have you ever felt enveloped in love? Sometimes I think it takes a crisis for people to really show what they're made of and how much they care. Yesterday, I was helping out with the Alpha meal at church. I've blogged before about how much I love my church, but yesterday took it to a whole new level. I was coming down stairs and missed the last step. I went flying and twisted both my ankles. I was immediately surrounded by people offering to help, bringing ice, massaging my leg, lifting me up. But, it wasn't just in that first five minutes. The care continued throughout the night. Every person I saw showed concern and offered help. Someone even drove my car home for me. That night, and the next day, so many people messaged me to check on how I was doing.
The most touching, however, was Ursula. I've never met a person before who seems to exude love. And not in a sappy, fake way. She just seems to genuinely care and show such concern. I already knew this from before, but last night just confirmed it. In the middle of my pain, she was there hugging me, telling me she loved me and my company, massaging my ankles, literally and figuratively lifting me up. I felt surrounded by love, like I was enwrapped in soft cotton.
There are only two people I have ever met who remind me of Jesus so much that I think I want to "grow up" to be just like them. One was an older lady from Finland who was so full of grace. She walked with grace, she talked with grace, she just had the most peaceful, grace-filled presence. Being near her actually felt like it brought total peace to my soul, like I imagine what it would be like to be near Jesus.
The other one is Ursula. I can't really describe the love that flows out from her, but it is definitely something special and very unusual. First of all, she gives the best hugs out of anyone I know. She has a total servant's heart and is active in helping out in all kinds of ways. She also has a wicked sense of humour and manages to be funny and loving at the same time. Did I mention that she's also a no-nonsense Mennonite? The love is not coming from a place of sugary, over the top sweetness. It's just there: constant, soft and kind. Like Jesus.

A Strong Cuppa

Did you know that Finnish people drink the most coffee per person out of any other nation in Europe or North America? So perhaps it's not surprising then that I LOVE my coffee. Ever since I can remember, coffee moments have been special in my family. My mom would always have something to go with. She would also put out the nice cups and even serviettes, to make the ordinary coffee moments into something special. "Let's make GOOD coffee" could be heard in my house every single day of my life. It's no wonder then that I have so many special memories from sitting at the coffee table.
I remember spending hours at the cafe called Calhoun's on West Broadway (since closed). It was open 24 hours and served me well in my university years. They had the best sandwiches and cheesecakes. I spent a lot of time there with three of my best girlfriends at the time: Ingrid, Sherisse and Mehj. They played really good music. I remember one time being ready to leave and they put on one of Sting's albums. We sat back down and stayed for the whole album; how could we not-it was Sting!
Benny's Bagels (also on West Broadway and since closed) was another favourite. It was dark and kinda creepy, but the atmosphere was perfect for those deep, dark philosophical discussions one tends to have into the wee hours as a teenager.
I also remember lots of coffee moments from my own kitchen. I have hosted countless friends for coffee and each treasured moment was special in its own way. My "BSF friends" have spent tens of hours in my kitchen since those coffee dates always ended up lasting more than four hours.
Perhaps surprisingly, two of my most significant memories were actually over tea. Maureen, a friend I've blogged about before, invited me to her house for afternoon tea. She had gone all out with baking scones and making the little finger sandwiches. She had out her special china and it was all just for me; I felt so loved in that moment.
My other tea time was at the Secret Garden teahouse in Kerrisdale. I took my friend there who was moving back to Finland. We had shared many coffee moments at my house, but I wanted to do something special before she left. It was very bittersweet in that we were both very sad that she was leaving. There may have been some tears. But, it was a beautiful way to say goodbye.
So, coffee or tea, those moments of sitting together and sharing life have been beautiful. There is something unhurried and leisurely about sitting down and indulging in a cuppa with a friend.

Small Moments

Do you ever stop in the middle of a seemingly insignificant, small moment and just overflow with love and gratitude? I had one of those moments on Saturday. I was on the church balcony, sitting next to Dee listening to a guest choir sing at our choir's concert. As I glanced over at Dee, I was overwhelmed with deep gratitude. Gratitude for this close friend who chooses to spend time with me. Gratitude that God put her in my life.
We had spent the afternoon together, starting with coffee at my house: lattes, fresh bread and cookies. Then, we had driven together to the church. We had had a sound check and had briefly run through our songs. After that we'd been excused to break for dinner/snacks. I had completely forgotten that there was a long break between practice and the concert and had brought nothing, except the gum and a few cough candies at the bottom of my purse. Dee had brought apples and cheese, salads and crackers. She graciously offered to share with me. I'm sure it was not a big deal in her mind and she probably would have done it for anyone else in the choir too. But, she did it for me. We sat in a little room off the sanctuary by ourselves, with two chairs and a table, eating, chatting and listening to the high school choirs practicing in the sanctuary. We weren't exactly supposed to be in that room, but it was so much nicer than crowding in with the more than 100 people who were snacking in the other room. We shared her food and there was something profoundly beautiful in that moment, even though it was in fact, so ordinary. We finished up, went to join the others and waited for the concert. Later, sitting there on the balcony next to Dee during the concert, it hit me. Thank you God for this beautiful friend, I whispered to myself as we got up to go sing in the mass choir and close out the concert.

Moments.
Moments-this is all we have.
Microscopic, fleeting moments.
How many moments of my life have my eyes been wide open but I've been rushing, racing, sleeping right through?
How many popsicle days and the running and twirling and spinning days.
How many of the moments of melting ice cream and crazy laughter and dangling bare feet and the setting sun igniting the moment of NOW.
Someone wake me up to the beating of wings and splashing of water...the setting of fog at twilight...the way the leaves and childhood slip away in the woods, torched with the last of summer.
You have GOT to figure out a way to stay FULLY awake!
Time's blurring by and everyone's slipping past and how do we wake to the moments?
How do we start believing that life can be carried only in the hands of the unhurried?
A bubble held in awe...how do we stop wolfing life down...cuz life is our only dessert - too brief, too sweet, too delectable to hurry.
What if we really figured it out? That gratitude for the seemingly small and insignificant - this is the seed that plants the giant miracle in the midst of it all...so that when you wake in the morning you can't help unfold your hands to the heavens.
And though you grieve and though you wonder...though the world is ugly...it IS beautiful! And though time moves on - its moments are holy.
And though the planets spin and blur - you can slow and you can wake and you can trust and you can pay attention to the moments with this offering of thanks.
Because THIS is how you spend your one life well...receiving each moment for what it really is - 
Holy. Ordinary. Amazing Grace. A gift.
(Ann Voskamp)