Advent

It was as I sat watching the first Advent candle being lit in church, that I decided I wanted my own advent wreath. It’s not something I’ve ever really been into, and it’s not something we had in our family growing up. But suddenly, I wanted one.

Here’s the thing, though. With my ME/CFS diagnosis, my nervous system is hyper-sensitive, and prone to inflammation from things that other people’s bodies don’t even pay attention to.

Chemical sensitivities are almost always an issue for people with ME/CFS, and I noticed this in myself over the last few years. I am keenly aware of odours, and I can get overwhelmed by fragrances quickly, even if they’re natural, like essential oils.

Suffice it to say, my home has become a scent-free and paraffin-free household. I always purchase a couple beeswax candles wherever I find them, but it turns out the purple and pink of Advent are hard to come by—well, after Advent has already started, anyway.

So, while I knew I wanted an advent wreath with candles, I also knew that, like everything else, I was going to have to improvise and make my own.

The wreath was the easiest part. Then, I managed to find some plain votive holders at Michael’s — you’d think these would be ubiquitous this time of year, but no. And lastly, the candles. The DIY kit arrived from Amazon just a few days ago.

We are on the fourth Sunday of advent, and here I am, lighting my wreath for the first time.

But for now: hope, love, joy, and peace—I will take them all. And because it is also the first night of Chanukah, I used the shamesh to light the advent candles—because Chanukah reminds us of miracles, and I’ll take a few of those too 😉

SOTC 300/365

SOTC 274/365

Edmonton! What's not to--

#IAmGrateful 24 (Also, SOTC 261/365)

Simplicity

"The point of simple living: A soft place to land,

a wide margin of error, room to breathe."

- Leo Babauta

Kindess

Sometime in the spring, I heard about the Big Apple Experiment from a colleague. Essentially, you take two apple slices, love one, trash talk the other, and see what happens. My job involves supporting educators to teach social and emotional skills to young children, and it was an experiment she had done with her preschool class to talk about kindness towards others.

When she emailed me and shared the experiences of the children and educators in her room, as well as the effect on the apples, I was moved. Are our words really that powerful? I started thinking it could be a meaningful exercise to try with my own coworkers. So I put a couple of apple slices in jars, and asked everyone to be kind to one, and be mean to the other. I did not tell them why.

Here is the apple we were kind and caring towards. I often heard it being cooed to, complimented, and occasionally someone sang to it. Four weeks later, it looked like you could dip it in caramel and still eat it.

Here is the apple we were mean to. It was talked to in tones of contempt, occasionally the table it sat on was smacked as frustrations were spoken to it, and one of my colleagues admitted to giving it the finger. ...I couldn't even touch it when I pulled it out of the jar. It was mouldy and squishy and just... not in good shape.

The two slices came from the same apple. They were cut with the same knife and placed at the same time into identical mason jars.* And because they were placed at opposite ends of our office building, I even switched their locations part way through so that each experienced the same traffic patterns of people overall. And what blows my mind is that both jars were sealed. The apples were not touched or tampered with. The only difference between these two apple slices was the attitude with which they were treated.

There is clearly an entirely different energy in hurtful words and actions than in loving ones. One rots; one protects. When we are unkind, not only do we wound another emotionally, or even fracture a relationship--we also leave behind a lasting negative energy. If this is what meanness does to an apple at its core, what does it do to a person in theirs?

...As someone who spends her day talking about social and emotional well-being, let me be clear that I'm not saying we shouldn't express our hurt or anger. We need to be authentic with all our feelings. ...But we do need to be mindful about where and how and to whom we're directing our energy.

We have a choice in every interaction--with the cashier at the grocery store; the customer service agent on the phone; our child or spouse at the end of a long day, in hard conversations with friends; at a tense team meeting--to choose: malice, sarcasm, belittling, anger, a raised voice? Or kindness, compassion, patience, empathy, and truth spoken in love.

We are not always going to be perfect, but the good news is that we have endless opportunities to practice.

I know what kind of energy I want to leave in a room, or in someone's heart.

I choose kindness.








* Yes, I washed the apple, the knife, the jars, and my hands before doing this.

She's Getting Old

Oh, my girl. As I type, she is rubbing her chin along the corner of the screen. A habit she's had since she was six months old.

She is now fourteen.

In terms of felines, she's an old girl. You can feel it in the way her bones are noticeable under her fur when you pet her. You can hear it in her scratchy chirping voice. You can see it in the way she more gingerly jumps on and off of furniture. 

She is not the kitten she once was. 

She spends much more time curled up next to me at night than she does prowling the house. She has been given permission from the vet to "eat more soft food," as she is having a harder time with the dry. She is slowing down.

Oh, my girl.

She's technically not my first cat. But the ginger gentleman I owned in high school had to be put down prematurely--we only shared a couple years together, mostly over homework and television.

Princess I have seen each other through the long haul.*

In her fourteen years, she's moved ten times. From apartment to apartment, from house to house. Helping me settle into adulthood, and following diligently along through its many transitions. I haven't always been the best owner; we are good at driving each other a little crazy some days. But we've stuck together.

She's been the consistency.

She's there on the couch, snoozing in a sunbeam.

She's there on my bed, curled like a letter J.

She's there at my feet, chirping away while I put on mascara.

She's there on my lap, keeping my legs warm as I read a book.

She's there in the grass--we share the same fresh summer breeze.

We kinda go together.

I'll admit, she's not one of those intuitive cats you read sappy stories about--the cat who just knows when their owner is in need of some sort of emotional support. The cat who's super in tune with their owner's feelings.

That's never how we've worked.

Still, we have our own rhythms and routines.

She generally knows not to prance around my bed before the alarm goes off.

We get ready for work together each morning.

She often eats breakfast while I do.

She leaves me cat toys on the bath mat--her "hunting" spoils.

She comes when I whistle.

She eats bugs on command.

Oh, my girl. When she and I were both much younger, I sometimes contemplated on how I'd be "well into my 30's" by the time I'd have to prepare myself to let her go. It seemed like a crazy notion, being a well-established adult with this cat.

And here we are.

A few more years--her time is soon approaching. I am not reflecting this to be morbid; I am appreciating the journey. Because I do believe that we have shared something of a journey together. And I think she must recognize that she is in these last few miles of this journey, because she interacts with me in a different way lately. She sticks closer; she loves fiercer; she communicates more. Or maybe that's just what happens when you spend so many years with a pet--the rhythm and intuition just take over. Or maybe I'm just imagining the whole thing.

Regardless, I will respond in kind; there are only a few precious years left in this journey, and I want to savour them all.

So I stick closer.
I love fiercer.
I communicate more.

Oh, my girl.






* I want to make clear that I am not undermining the journey I have shared with Akira, my other feline. But today, it is not her story I'm telling.

Can We Quit Losing Our $#!*& Over Holiday Greetings?!

I'm Christian. So I celebrate Christmas. If you ask me for the definition of Christmas, I will tell you that it's a celebration of the day Jesus Christ was born into this world.¹ I will tell you it's an important day for me and other believers, because we believe that Jesus was born into this world as our Lord and Saviour. I believe Jesus is God, born in human form. To a virgin. In a barn. Fully human and fully divine. That's my faith. And so I celebrate Christmas. And therefore often greet others with, "Merry Christmas!"

To be honest, I do wonder a bit at the masses of people who choose to say they celebrate Christmas when they don't believe any part of its definition. I mean, if you don't believe in Jesus, and therefore have no reason to honour his birthday, then why do you say you celebrate Christmas? I do wish people would be accurate in defining the holiday they believe in and celebrate.

But outside of that semantic detail, I actually have no issue with whatever holiday that is.

I'm not offended if you tell me Happy Hannukah.
I'm not offended if you wish me Happy Diwali.
I'm not offended with a Happy Solstice.
Or Happy Kwanzaa.
And I'm not offended if you greet me with Happy Holidays.

A lot of different celebrations happen at this time of year. I don't know the origins of all winter celebrations, but good grief--Jesus' birthday isn't even in December; we just piggy-backed the timing on a pagan solstice holiday that already existed³. So who am I to get all up in your celebrations?!

As near as I can tell, all these winter celebrations are about peace.

All these celebrations embrace light.

All these celebrations encourage giving.

All these celebrations mean joy!

And lastly, all these celebrations come from a practice of love.

So if we⁴ are getting our tinsel in such a tangle over what celebration others are sharing with us, that we can't see the intention behind their greeting, then we've missed the point entirely. And worse, we become hypocrites of our own faith. It IS possible to have a strong faith--live it, breathe it, maybe even preach it--without passing judgement on the faiths of others.

In the office small-talk, in the checkout line at the supermarket, or in the parking lot at the mall, I can't tell, just by looking, what you celebrate, any more than you can tell what I celebrate. That being said, when you wish me Happy Holidays, know that I'm not one of those people who will then try and correct your greeting by explaining what 'one' faith this time of year is 'really' about. December is not the time for theological debate. From me, your greeting can be guaranteed a response of, "thanks, you too!"

And all I ask is the same in return.





1 As supported by the following:
dictionary.com - the festival of the Christian church commemorating the birth of Jesus.
merriam-webster.com - a Christian holiday that is celebrated on December 25 in honor of the birth of Jesus Christ
thefreedictionary.com - A Christian feast commemorating the birth of Jesus.
wikipedia.com - annual commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ.

2 Which, to be fair, means I should really decorate a palm tree each year, because it would be a more accurate reflection of a true "Christmas" tree. Decorating an evergreen is more in line with celebrating the Solstice.

3 Hear that, fellow Christians? Jesus is not the original reason for the season. He's just the reason for ours.

4 Not 'we' as Christians, but 'we' as society--all faiths are guilty of slamming other faiths at this time of year.

Valentine's Day is So "Corn"y (SOTC 87/365)

Looks like

Valentine's Day.

Tastes like Halloween.

Four Letter Word (SOTC 82/365)

Four Letter Word (SOTC 82/365), a photo by gina.blank on Flickr.

327/365

♥ to bursting!

244/365

Volumes of fur aside,

I love you like mad.

198/365

174/365

Birthday celebrations concluded last night with a gathering at my house. I always enjoy having company over. I love my space, and I love fellowship within it. Certainly not a wild or crazy evening, my party was nevertheless a lovely evening of laughter, food, and fun.

It was also one more thing that reminded me of how blessed I am in my friendships and community. As I mentioned previously, the birthday celebrations started two weeks ago. My family in SK took me out for a lovely brunch. My six-year-old niece, ever-purposeful in so much of what she does, wore an entirely-red outfit in my honour. This really touched me as a reminder of the intentionality with which I am considered by those close to me.

The following week--my actual birthday--I was spoiled again. I had suggested a simple Birthday-Grey's Night, but the girls took that idea and ran with it.

I sat in JP's kitchen, watching the three of them move animatedly around pots, cutting boards, and appliances, piecing together their fondue creation. I know that they were having fun creating simply because they were creating. But I also know that this idea had come about as they had considered me. Just me.

This--at this point, right here--was a wealth of blessing.

Last night, my friends continued to pour the light of celebration and love upon me. And all I really had to do was take it in. (That and the rum-chocolate mousse!)

(As a side note, I had ten people in my house for this event, and my anxiety-disordered cat remained upstairs for the entire evening. She also stayed in the living room, where everyone was gathered, for at least half of that. She enjoyed cuddles from more than one person, and did not hiss at anyone. This is a birthday miracle, if ever I saw one.)

126/365

123/365

Long overdue for some Saskatchewan love. T-minus 24 hours.

63/365

Mine

When I graduated from university in 2002, my parents 'sold' me their car. I had driven it while living at home in the summers for the previous four years, and it had been our family car for eleven years. It was red. It was a standard. And now it was mine.

Except it didn't really feel like mine. It had always been the family car--really, my parents' car. And if I accidentally referred to it as "my car," my dad was very quick to remind me, "whose car?" until I had it well in my brain who was ultimately responsible for that vehicle. So even once I'd given my parents the whole dollar they charged me for it, even once my first insurance payment went through, even once I'd driven it back to my apartment three hours away, it didn't quite feel like mine. Until one day that first summer, while driving on the highway to work, a semi-truck traveling in the other direction fired a rock into the right side of the windshield. BANG. Now the car felt like mine.

I had a welt in my windshield for which I was responsible. And what hit me was not just the fiscal responsibility of paying for the repair of said welt, but the overall sense of responsibility that this was my car, my baby, and that its long-term well-being depended on how well I took care of it for even such little things as these. (Please do not tell this to my current Honda Civic, the windshield of which boasts several welts and a few cracks, all but one of which I've ignored.) I almost felt like my car would grow resentful if I did not treat it properly, and would be more appreciative if I kept it 'healthy' in all respects (yes, I am well-aware that cars do not actually have feelings).

From that point forward, I consciously started knowing my car. It's noises, it's quirks, its flaws, its strengths. And I fell even more in love with it than I had been before.

In late October of this year, I moved into my house. Except it didn't really feel like mine. It still smelled like the previous owners. It had rooms that were not my preferred colour. So even after all the papers were signed, even after I re-painted my bedroom and ripped out all the old carpet, even though the space has all my stuff in it and therefore reflects my personality, it didn't quite feel like mine. Until this week, when it snowed.

A house requires maintenance inside and out. In the winter in Canada, that means shoveling the front walk and driveway. And I have a massive driveway. Despite recommendations, I opted for a regular snow shovel instead of a snow blower. Cheaper, more eco-friendly, and healthier for someone like me who likes to be active, but does everything in her power to avoid stepping foot in a gym. For an hour, I shoveled snow. I made sure it was all shoveled evenly. I took care not to pile the snow in poor locations (i.e. against the side of the house where the grading needs to be re-done). I cleared stairs not just for my own safety but for that of the post man and friends who might stop by. And what hit me was not just the physical act of removing the snow to be a responsible citizen, but the overall sense of responsibility that this was my house, and its long-term well-being depended on how well I took care of it for even such little things as these. I kind of feel like my house will grow resentful if I do not treat it properly, and will be more appreciative if I keep it 'healthy' in all respects (yes, I am well-aware that my house does not actually have feelings.)

The first mortgage payment has yet to be withdrawn. I have yet to receive my first heating bill. And I still can't quite navigate my way effortlessly in the dark. But the snow shoveling did it. I am already aware of how I am coming to know my house. I know which rooms are warmer, even when the thermostat says the whole house is at 20C (68F). I know which doors open effortlessly, and which require me to wrestle a little with them as I turn the key in the lock. I know to expect the sound of the bathroom pipes after I wash my hands. And I'm falling even more in love with it than I was before.

A New Year's Prayer

Holy Father,
God of our yesterdays, our today, and our tomorrows.
We praise You for Your unequaled greatness.
Thank You for the year behind us and for the year ahead.
Help us in Your new year, Father, to fret less and laugh more.
To teach our children to laugh by laughing with them.
To teach others to love by loving them,
Knowing, when Love came to the stable in Bethlehem, He came for us;
So that Love could be with us, and we could know You.
That we could share Love with others.
Help us, Father, to hear Your love song in every sunrise,
in the chirping of sparrows in our backyards,
in the stories of our old folks, and the fantasies of our children.
Help us to stop and listen to Your love songs,
so that we may know You better and better.
We rejoice in the world You loved into being.
Thank You for another new year and for new chances every day.
We pray for peace, for light, and for hope, that we might spread them to others.
Forgive us for falling short this past year.
We leave the irreparable past in your hands, and step out into the unknown new year knowing You will go with us.
We accept Your gift of a new year and we rejoice in what's ahead, depending on You to help us do exactly what You want.
I say it again, we rejoice!
In Jesus name, Amen.

Taken from: http://halife.com/halife/new_year_prayer.html

Living the Experience

"To experience community is to know the joy of belonging, the delight at being known and loved, the opportunity for giving and growing, the safety of finding a true home." -- John Ortberg

Any Song is Worship?

So, I was loading up my iPod with songs for a bike ride this afternoon, and I was trying to decide if I felt like Christian music or secular (I went with secular in the end, but that's beside the point). As I was pondering this, I remembered something interesting from high school.

In my high school, we had a lunch-hour youth group kind of thing. I only participated when I was in grade ten, and I only remember two of the get-togethers. One was ice blocking (also beside the point), and the other was listening to secular music from a Christian perspective.

I remember we listened to "Every Breath You Take" by the Police, which talks about a guy who's pretty much stalking his ex. Except we were told to listen to it as if it was God speaking to US, and I remember thinking that was kind of cool (feel free to check out the lyrics).

So that memory went through my mind this afternoon as I was choosing between Christian and secular, and starting to wonder if it really mattered.

Now clearly, there are songs out there that can't be viewed from any sort of Christian perspective; and I'm not simply talking about garbage types of songs. There are just some that tell a very specific story and can't be viewed from another perspective... like the "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," for instance.

But that still leaves a lot of other songs. In fact, Stephen Curtis Chapman took the one-hit wonder 500 Miles and turned it into a praise song (although he replaced the line "when I get drunk..." with different lyrics).

I think there are so many songs that could be re-framed. That could shift your perspective on your mid-day drive while you are stuck in traffic. That could offer up a new form of praise. That could alter your presumptions about what love really looks like.