What Does it Mean?

Every now and then, I glance back at old journal entries. I often see areas where God answered prayer; sometimes dramatically. I see how my thoughts and feelings have grown and/or evolved. I chuckle at things like being worried about a psych test. And then--and this is what gets me--I see some of the same old problems.

I read about feelings I am processing and/or still struggle with 5, 10, 15 years later. I could cut and paste the entries and slap the today's date on the top, and it would still be relevant and accurate and true.

Same crap, different pile, it seems.

It makes me wonder...

We talk so much about how we can grow, change, improve as people. We are encouraged to recognize the parts of our character that challenge us, cause us struggle--our weaknesses--and invest time, energy, prayer, and counselling into changing them. We are to learn from the negative experiences they cause, using our awareness to come up with strategies lessen their impact or power on us in the future.

And then...

They still show up.

I was chatting with a friend about how--similarly--the struggles experienced by married couples are often struggles they experienced while dating. The issue doesn't really seem to go away--it just seems to be the issue we've decided to accept "till death do us part."

So what does this all mean?

Are we not dealing right?

Processing right?

Praying "right"?

(....I SWEAR I brought that issue to the cross already. Twice. Does it mean I didn't leave it there?)

Are we not as able to change some parts of ourselves as we think we are/should be?

How do we know if a weakness is a way Satan plants seeds of insecurity in our hearts or a way God plants seeds of humility?

Can we truly accept ourselves if we know we can't change? Or do we only "accept" ourselves on the belief that we will grow and move beyond our weakness(es)?

So many more questions than answers...

SOTC 8/365

SOTC 1/365

I love sunflowers. There are certain flowers that I like best for their scent: sweet peas, lilacs, and peonies (in that order). But others I am drawn to for their aesthetic appeal. Stargazer lilies (though their scent is intoxicating, too); tulips; sunflowers.

I don't have sunflowers in my own garden (yet), and earlier this week, I had a sort of craving for them. The weather was getting cooler, I was having company coming for the weekend, and suddenly I wanted sunflowers in my kitchen.

I obtained some from another gardener, and then received even more from friends. Now I have sunflowers in my kitchen, guest room, and living room--my house is looking pretty great! Even though I'm not typically a fan of the color yellow, there are a couple exceptions, and sunflowers are one of them.*

I know they are called sunflowers because they follow the sun, but their very being seems to be the floral equivalent of sunshine. Long, golden petals radiate from a giant, almost spherical-looking core. The warm colors of yellow, orange, and red explode outward in all directions. It is just such a happy flower!

Sunflowers seem to be the pre-cursor to fall. They remind me of cooler mornings, but still-warm afternoons. They remind me of the leaves that will soon turn the same shades of yellow, orange, and red. And they remind me that such transitions aren't always dreary; the sun shines in all seasons.




* Though red sunflowers trump yellow any day.

Getting to the Root of Things OR 294/365

Though overcast and breezy, it was nevertheless warm outside today, so I decided to continue tackling the weeds in my back yard that are threatening to overtake it. It is a process in lawn care and home maintenance that I am learning the hard way this year.

I am digging out dandelions one by one with a trowel, because I cannot think of a more effective solution at this point that is not going to cost me the earth. Music makes any work more enjoyable, so I plugged in my portable stereo outside and got to it.

What a process.

There seem to be three types of dandelion clusters in my yard: the brown, dead and wilted ones that I covered in weed killer earlier this week; the bright yellow ones that I missed; and the green, leafy, yet-to-be ones that are trying camouflage with the grass. I went around unearthing all three kinds in a pretty even ratio. The live ones are the ones that are most obvious, and will repopulate if I don't get them. The sprouting ones will take their place if they aren't tackled. And the dead ones--you'd think I wouldn't have to worry about them. But, while some withered and died nicely, others went down with a fight. In the stress of knowing their end was near, they went from yellow to fluffy, and are threatening to start this whole mess over again for next year if I don't dig them out.

Good grief.

My process is imperfect. I cannot get my trowel deep enough to pull the weeds and bring the entire root with me. I managed to get ONE dandelion cluster with its entire root. And it was only satisfying for a moment before I realized the cluster had two main roots, and the other one had broken off like all the others. ...Do you see how long that root is?! I am generally pulling these dandelions with 1/3 the amount of root--if that. Then I cover the hole with dirt and sprinkle over it with lawn seed, in the hopes of growing enough new grass overtop to choke out future weeds. But if I'm leaving that length of root behind, am I even doing any good? Visually, on the surface, it looks better. But only time will tell how well I've actually taken care of what's underneath. Some of those roots are really thick.

My friend, also into gardening, posts Garden Lessons on her blog, as a result of the experiences she and her mother have on their community vegetable garden plot. Now I get how she manages to formulate such rich blog material. From spending hours on her knees with a trowel, that's how.* I had a lot of thinking time as I dug holes today. Which was actually not so bad, because a) I'm an introvert, and b) I've had a couple of brain-heavy weeks worth mulling over. But in and amongst my mental processing, I also found myself thinking metaphorically of roots.

It is often said that when you are trying to get rid of something, or change something, you need to get to the root of the issue--the root cause of what's going on. In my line of work, we often talk about this in regards to children's behaviour. It's not enough to give a sticker for a good job, or tell a child what he/she needs to be doing. You need to find the source of the behaviour: what is motivating that child to communicate this way? Only when you figure that out can you start to provide the right environment for behavioural change.

A few of my closest friends are dietitians. They talk about weight management the same way. It's not enough to just jump on a treadmill or eat less. You need to find out the source of the weight gain: what are the physiological, psychological, or emotional underpinnings of the way a person takes in food and lives actively (or doesn't)? Only when you figure that out can you provide the patient with a game plan to improve their health and weight.

Spiritually, we talk about getting to the root of sin. It's not enough for someone who's into porn to have a password put onto his computer, or for an alcoholic to simply get rid of all the liquor in the house. Unless you look at the underlying wound or spiritual lies driving those behaviours (and then submit those to Jesus), he/she is likely to fall into old patterns.

Get to the root. Deal with the root. Remove the root.

So... dandelions. I am not getting to the root of them. I sort of am--I'm doing better than just ripping the flowers out by the stems. But I'm still breaking the root far from the bottom. ....Is that enough? Is it enough to sever the root, or do I need to pull it out of the earth entirely to be successful? I just want to know, are my efforts worth it? Are these f*ing dandelions going to grow back?!

After three hours, I set down my trowel. I am no where close to being done, but I am done for today. My hands sting. My back aches. My skin is gritty with dirt. I'd like to spend some time reading in my hammock. I feel like I worked hard and deserve it. Simultaneously, I look at the state of my yard, and feel like I deserve nothing 'till every last dandelion is gone. But I don't beat myself up too much. I know I let my yard get like this. It is going to take a while to clean it up. And then the poor lawn has to heal. ...I also remind myself of what the lawn looked like two days ago, and figure my efforts can't be entirely in vain.

Getting to the root of an issue is actually fairly simple compared to the process of change that must follow. That's what takes the time and energy. And depending on how deep those roots go determines the magnitude of effort that must go into restoring what was damaged, whether that's our body, our soul, or our back yard.

I'm doing the best I can.


Also on the plus side, as I made my way to the hammock, I glanced over into the garden and noticed... the spinach has popped up. Clearly, I'm tending some things properly.









* With some wise words, even, on weeds and roots.

287/365

Nothing marks the transition of seasons like an eczema flare-up.*




* And by the looks of my hand, dry skin all around. Ah, Alberta!

Stars and the Starmaker

I was maybe nine or ten when I discovered the Zodiac. I quickly identified with my sign, Capricorn, and even as an adult who doesn't take astrology seriously, I find some of the characteristics of the Capricorn to be eerily accurate. So when the recent news craze appeared stating that the dates delineating the Zodiac signs has shifted, even I--who don't put my faith in such things--resisted the idea that I now have to call myself a Sagittarius.

I started thinking... if even I get unnerved about the idea that I have to change my sign, then how disconcerting must it be for those who form their identity and live out their lives based on astrological signs? If everything is shifting--if the stars no longer line up the way they used to--how does that change how one lives? And how does one keep track?

At this point, I was washed over with a great sense of relief.

Finally, I thought, a point for Christianity. ...My God never changes.

Reflections From the Other Side

I sat on the other side of church today. I generally sit on the right side, near-ish the middle aisle. It was where I sat when I first started attending, because the two people I knew at the time also sat in that area, and it just kinda stuck. Having grown up in the Anglican church, I have many times heard the joking cliche that Anglicans don't like change and therefore sit in the same spot every week. Personally, I feel this has less to do with being Anglican and more just being a creature of habit. Still, it's true.

This morning, my friend suggested that one Sunday we should try shaking it up a bit and sit "over there" (sweeping her hand in the general direction of the left side of the church). "We totally should!" I agree, "Let's go!" In a split-second of spontaneity, I make 'one Sunday' today, and we find ourselves sitting on the left side of the church (and a bit closer to the front, too). It was great!

There's no structural pillar on the left side to potentially block the view of the screen (which displays the worship lyrics) or the pastor when he delivers his sermon. And for whatever reason, about a half dozen people came up to say hi to my friend and myself, which has never seemed to happen on the other side. The music was the same. The message was just as good. I s'pose it was quieter--not as many people seem to sit on the left. Overall, the service was not drastically different because we sat somewhere different. But it was definitely refreshing somehow.

I heard somewhere several years ago that when driving to places you visit frequently, like driving to work, it can keep your brain stimulated (and therefore more alert) if you take a different route every now and then. Apparently this makes for better driving cuz your brain's not bored. ...Perhaps it's the same with church seating. ...Perhaps it's the same with everything.

JM and I had contemplated a walk for today, and when she texted, she inquired about a walk vs. a bike ride. Having only ridden my bike two or three times this summer, I jumped at the opportunity to bring out the wheels on such a nice day. Again, refreshing. And not just physiologically. But given as I go for walks with my friends quite regularly, this made the excursion a little different.

There is definitely something to be said for routine. In my work, we often create regular and predictable routines for our children. The predictability of what's happening lowers stress, can enhance social interactions, and facilitates learning. Still, when I talk to coworkers about play routines, I often emphasize that while it is crucially important to keep the routine the same, it is also important to have regular variety within the activities that make up that routine. Otherwise the child gets bored. New activities are refreshing; fancy that.

Balance. It always seems to come back to balance. Here it's the balance between enough predictability in our routines to minimize stress and chaos, and enough variety to keep it interesting. Today I am balanced.

Perhaps next Sunday I will sit in the middle.