Linguistic Integrity

For the duration of my university education some years ago, it was repeatedly drummed into our heads by our linguistics professors that “language changes”. “Linguistics is descriptive, not prescriptive!” they would cry, whenever a student objected to a new word usage or raised some archaic grammatical point. And of course, we are all familiar with the idea—any parent who has tried to have a conversation with their teenager knows full-well that new words can be readily coined and old words become “cringe”. Since the first day of human existence, mankind has played with words and made up new vocabulary. Language is not static. 

But in the real world outside the hallowed halls of academia, all disciplines must be combined with ethics. It is not enough merely to describe things; it is also sometimes required that we raise questions and at least occasionally declare a thing to be wrong. Language changes, yes. But it does not therefore follow that all change is good. One of the first events in human history involved a serpent who twisted God’s words, and ever since, mankind has been constantly tempted toward deceptive vocabulary usage. There is nothing inherently wrong in playing with words in a clever way to make someone laugh, or to make a point, or just for the fun of it. There is nothing fundamentally evil in changing a dictionary definition when the whole of society has begun to use a word in a new way. What concerns me is when words are used in new ways to deceive—to downplay or to over-blow a situation by using a word known by the hearers to have one definition, but employed by the speaker in a different way without acknowledging the difference. And in recent years, this linguistic tactic has confused the meanings of words with increasing frequency, so that it has become rather difficult to have a productive debate about anything without first defining every single term. The philosophical reasons behind this cascade of verbal gymnastics are not my focus here; suffice it to say that we have probably all experienced this at some point in some discussion with somebody. While I have a long list of examples in my head, in the interest of keeping open worm-cans to a daily minimum, I will mention only one at present. 

In common usage, the word “inconvenience” has been generally associated with such relatively momentary circumstances as having to remove a massive pile of books and papers off the kitchen table before setting it, or needing to take a detour around a roadblock on the way to the grocery store, perhaps even putting up year-round with a neighbour’s tacky decorations. An inconvenience is when, in the middle of writing this, my keyboard acts up and I have to stop and figure out how to fix it. It should be rather obvious that a civil war, a destructive earthquake or a global pandemic is not a mere “inconvenience” in the normal understanding of the word. But I have recently noticed a use of this term in arguments to intentionally dismiss another human’s real suffering, and it concerns me. Some things that now seem to be lumped under the term “inconvenience”: divorce; suicide; rapid increase in childhood speech pathologies; rapid increase in mental health issues; failing grades in former star students; inability to pay bills due to job loss; denial of medical care to the sick; barring of family members from births, weddings, chemotherapy sessions and funerals; inflation and economic collapse; the list could go on. I am quite sure that if you talk to most any real person dealing with these things, they will not consider them “just an inconvenience”.

We are called to be truthful in our words. Word-play, hyperbole, understatement, irony and other such linguistic phenomena have their good and rightful place when they can be understood for what they are. But we should all be wary of using our vocabulary to easily dismiss other humans, to avoid constructive discussion, to deceive. If you see me using words in these ways, please call me on it. And in return I kindly ask, in the interests of linguistic and human integrity, that you consider your own use of terms, especially in heated conversations on current events. Language changes, but let’s not use change to destroy our fellow man.

New Normal

Just a thought for those Canadians who think our current state of affairs is okay and doesn’t really affect them that much—it’s just the “new normal”: Having spent time in both a communist country and a former communist country currently under an effective dictatorship, I can attest that everyday life in such nations feels pretty “normal”. There’s an initial shock, of course, if you’re new to it, but humans are remarkably resilient and can learn to cope with bad situations pretty quickly (given the options cope, flee or die, most people choose “cope”). People in totalitarian states still eat, sleep, pray, get married, make love, have kids, work jobs, go to the market, see friends, laugh at jokes, cry at tragedies and generally act like humans. 

But here’s the tell-tale difference: as soon as said human wants to make their own decision about where they will live, what job they will do, whom they will associate with and in what manner, how they will worship, what they will read, what medical options they want to try, they will come up against the brick wall of the State. Their appeals will usually fall on deaf ears. When they try to step outside the approved little box of normal everyday life, they are told to stand down or face fines, prison, or worse. 

And THAT is not the world I want my children and grandchildren to live in. I don’t want a life that FEELS normal on a Tuesday morning while I’m in my house with my husband and kids and a job to do, but as soon as I step outside my front door, there are rules about what I must wear, where I can eat my lunch and how often I can honk my car horn. I don’t want my country to be a place I can never leave unless I submit to forced government medical regulations. 

Despite how normal your life may feel today, it does not therefore follow that we are a free nation. And having also studied and spent time in a country recovering from a very recent genocide, I can also attest that it is rather remarkably easy for the government to convince fellow citizens to turn on each other. So please be on your guard for Canada. This land that I love is in graver danger than many people realize.

 

Grown-Up Christmas Lists

My girls love them some Christmas music! I can easily see them growing up into "those people" who start listening to festive tunes in October (no offense intended to any others who number among them!). Well, this year, they discovered the 24/7 Christmas radio station and now that's all they want to listen to when we're in the car. Since it's at least December now, I've largely obliged them, even if it means occasionally having to sit through such holiday classics as WHAM!'s "Last Christmas", Madonna's version of "Santa Baby" or Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas Time?" (good intentions, awfully patronizing lyrics).

The other day, as Ruth and I were on our way downtown, one of the various covers of "My Grown-Up Christmas List" was playing. When I was younger, I always thought the song was rather sappy, but as the years go on, I find it is more likely to bring legitimate tears to my eyes. This year, it brings to mind Aleppo. It reminds me of the little boy we know whose cancer is progressing, despite many medical interventions, and the 6 kids (among others) who will spend this Christmas without their mother. It calls up broken marriages, children who feel rejected by their peers, people stuck outside in the midst of our recent barrage of snow. There is perhaps no time of year where we feel more keenly the strange juxtaposition of joy and brokenness in a single season. Christmas is about rejoicing, yes. We are celebrating the end of the long wait for the promised Messiah to enter our world and bring justice and peace to reign. But at the same time, we are still very much in a period of waiting for the risen Messiah to come a second time and finally do away with all the tyranny that yet remains in this world.

So Ruth and I are on our way to a wedding (rejoicing!) and I'm contemplating grown-up Christmas lists (brokenness), and she asks me what the song is about. I explain to her that little kids ask to get toys and candy for Christmas, but as we get older, it often becomes more important to us to experience true happiness and peace that we don't get by having stuff. Ruth's response was one of those 6-year-old answers that sometimes surprises us parents with its thoughtfulness: "But Santa can't give you those things. Only God can!"

She's completely right, of course, and yet how often do we all, 6-year-olds and 36-year-olds and 96-year-olds included, try to fill our brokenness with material things, with breakable human relationships, with amazing experiences, with feel-good Christmas tunes and dreams of Santa down the chimney? But putting shiny tinsel and lots of coloured balls on a dying tree won't make it any less brown come New Year's.

The older we get, the more we get to Christmas with thoughts of the loved one who won't be joining us anymore, the reminder of people suffering in our churches, our city, and around the world (and maybe in our own home). And it's not wrong for there to be sadness mixed in with the Christmas celebrations. Jesus has come into the midst of this world's brokenness to save us, and that is cause for rejoicing. But His work on earth is not yet finished and if anything, the mixed-up sentiments of this season should cause us all the more to long for His return when He will make all things new and finally cross off all those items on our grown-up Christmas lists.

There's a reason that song has been recorded by dozens of artists. In the season of "Joy To The World" and "Jingle Bells" all the way, requests to Santa for no more lives torn apart and peace on earth and friends for everyone resonate deeply with all of us who've seen and experienced the losses of life on earth. But as you sing along with Amy Grant or Kelly Clarkson or Michael Bublé or whichever version might be playing on your station this time, don't make it a list for Santa. Make it a prayer to the only one with the power to actually bring it to pass, to the one, indeed, who has promised to bring it to pass. And that's not the innocence of youth and blind belief touted in the song. It's faith in what is really and truly true. Amen. Come, Lord, Jesus!

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;

   Those who live in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.

You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy;

   They rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, 

   As they are glad when they divide the spoil.

For the yoke of his burden and the staff for his shoulder,

   The rod of his oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult

   And every garment rolled in blood

   Will be burned as fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born, 

   To us a son is given;

And the government shall be upon his shoulder,

   And his name shall be called 

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace

   There will be no end,

On the throne of David and over his kingdom,

   To establish it and to uphold it

With justice and with righteousness 

   From this time forth and forevermore.

The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9:1-9

Home

Home [hohm], n.: "the place where one's domestic affections are centred"

The dictionary has other, more sterile definitions of the word "home", but all of them deal in some way with ideas of nativeness, regularity, comfort, what is common or usual, security. When we talk about a house or residence, we don't necessarily attach any emotion to that place of shelter. But far more often, when we refer to our home, there is a sense of familiarity that brings with it affection and comfort. Even when our home is a difficult place to be, even when it is not a peaceful place, we can still feel a sense of homesickness when we're away. There is a comfort in the familiar, even when what is familiar is not particularly pleasant. And how much more so when home is a happy place!

I've been thinking about the idea of home a lot recently. Not surprising, as we've just moved to a new house. Again. I won't get into all the details right now, or I might never actually finish this post, but yes, a few weeks ago, we packed up all our earthly belongings (except the boxes that are still at the cottage from 2 moves ago!) and moved from our downtown condo to a little house on the other side of the city. This was not my ideal move--to a place I was excited about, well-organized, meticulously planned for months. It was rather sudden (to my slow-and-steady-wins-the-race brain, anyway). I've never lived on the east end and until last month, wouldn't have had a clue where someone was referring to if they'd mentioned the major intersection near our new place. And our move date got changed more than once, and never to a later date! On top of all that, rather than moving with excitement and a clear goal in mind, this move felt foggy and somewhat unclear. By the time we got all our stuff into the new house, we were exhausted and battling depression. I'm not sure that a move is ever exactly "fun", but we found this one particularly hard.

Don't get me wrong--we love our new place. Even though it's not a big house, it feels positively spacious after the condo. There's a fenced yard I can send the kids into. I like the old-school finishes that are so different from the stark modernity we've lived in for the last 3 years. We're on a quiet street with several other families and we feel like our household fits in a little better with the new demographics than with the old. But it's still a move, a transition, a venture into the unfamiliar. And right at the moment, I'm tired of change. The morning we first woke up in our old bed in our new house, Nathan turned to me and said, "I don't ever want to move again!" And I hear him. Not only is a move a lot of work, it's a lot of change, and no matter how much some people may love new adventures, God has wired all of us to crave the comfort of security and stability in some way.

The problem is that most of us don't get complete stability and security in our earthly homes. Almost all of us move at some point, and some of us many times over. Even people who live in the same home for decades will see family members come and go from the household over the years and will experience change in the neighbourhood around them. We want the comfort of a stable home, but jobs change, families change, finances change, goals change and houses eventually fall apart. So it struck me, that first morning in our new residence which was not yet a home, when I read Psalm 27 and came across a very familiar verse that suddenly had a very pressing application. The psalmist is in the midst of turmoil and war, but he boldly states his confidence in this insecure setting and claims in verse 4, "One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple." What does he make his permanent home? Not the beautiful palace he built, not with his family, not a place free of earthly strife and confusion. His main goal is to make God's house his home, and not just in the next life, but all the days of this life.

And why? "For he will hide me in his shelter on the day of trouble" (safety), "He will lift me high upon a rock... lead me on level ground" (stability), "My father and mother have forsaken me but the Lord will take me in" (welcome), and, going back to verse 4, there is great beauty and wisdom to be found there. God's house is the only place where we can find eternal safety, security, welcome, beauty, wisdom and all other things good. And if home is where the heart is, we don't have to wait until we see God's dwelling place with physical eyes to make it our home all the days of this life. The heart that is seeking God's face, having been adopted into God's family through the reconciliation offered to us in the death and resurrection of Christ, has a permanent home now, regardless of the status of our physical address. I can live in a small condo in a concrete jungle, or in a quiet older house surrounded by pleasant gardens or on a farm in the middle of nowhere or in the slums of a third world country. I can move every few months or every couple years or stay in the same place for half a century. I can live alone, with a new roommate, a new husband or an old one. I can have a noisy home full of small children or a busy home of teenage activity or an empty nest of relative silence. And in the midst of all these changes, I can have one permanent, unwavering home.

I want to put some roots down here on the east end. I want to unpack the boxes, hang all the pictures, arrange the furniture in the most pleasing way, tend the garden. I want my kids to settle in and love the place and have fond memories of this childhood house. I want to get to know my neighbours and have them in my home regularly. I want to invest in our new church community and make it my home church. I want to see God working positive change in my family and my neighbours and my church over the long haul. I want my little house to reflect the warmth, welcome, beauty and safety of God's home. But however much this brick-and-mortar building starts to really feel like the place I love to be, I want to seek one thing: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, gazing on his beauty and resting in his shelter, firmly rooted and centring my domestic affections on the permanent home he welcomes us into.


Things to think about and/or comment on:
What is home for you?
Which home have you loved the most and what was it about that particular place that made it especially homey?
How much does your current physical home resemble God's home?
Do you know the comfort and security of dwelling in God's house?
How can we centre our affections more on God's dwelling place?

The Effective Word

When was the last time your words translated into a direct and perfect action? You know, like the time you said, "Go clean up your toys," and the room transformed immediately into a spotless sanctuary? Or when you commanded winter to be done once-and-for-all and flowers instantly began to sprout from the ground? Or when I said I planned to be back to regular blogging in the fall and well, we all know how that turned out. Okay, so maybe those things are a little unrealistic. But even if we limit effective words to the real world, have you kept your word every time you said you'd make a deadline? Kept every promise made to your kids? Experienced complete obedience to commands given to those under your authority?

Yes, there are times when our words are effective, even seemingly perfectly so. But we are so accustomed to the failure of words, even those with the best of intentions, that it easily distorts our view of God's words. How quick we are to doubt His promises, to hold on to anxiety despite the relentless refrain of His unfailing care for us, to pray the weary prayers of the hopeless instead of the confident prayers of beloved children, or to fail to pray at all, not seeing the point in holding God to His word, assuming Him to be just as unreliable as we sometimes are.

But God's words are not like ours. God says, "Let there be light," and it is so. As Tim Keller points out in his new book on prayer, when we say, "Let's turn on the lights," we still have to take the action of flipping a switch to make our words effective. But God's words and His actions are one and the same. His words are active and powerful in and of themselves. He says, "Let there be sun, moon and stars," and doesn't need to send out a construction team to make it happen.

The voice of the Lord is over the waters;
    the God of glory thunders,
    the Lord, over many waters.

The voice of the Lord is powerful;
    the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.

The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars;

    the Lord breaks the cedars of Lebanon.

He makes Lebanon to skip like a calf,

    and Sirion like a young wild ox.

The voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire.

The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness;

    the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

The voice of the Lord makes the deer give birth

    and strips the forests bare,

    and in his temple all cry, “Glory!” (Psalm 29)

God's word goes out and accomplishes the purposes for which He sent it. Every. Last. Time. In fact, if God's words equal His actions, then from the moment He speaks, things are springing up into being, even when we do not perceive it. Yes, God often uses agents to carry out His purposes, but even then, the accomplishment is by His word and not because the agents had any special power in themselves.

And if we really get this, it will change the way we think, the way we pray, the way we live. If God's words and actions are equivalent, then every word of God must prove true. Then when He says that He will not leave or forsake you, it's already done. He says, "I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand," and it is so, whether you are feeling it right now or not. He cries out on the cross that "it is finished" and our sin is fully paid for. Done. No take-backs. He promises that the ends of the earth will be filled with His glory and we can be sure that He is active toward that end at this very moment. This is why we can pray confidently when we are praying God's promises back to Him, because if He said it, it is being fulfilled. And if God's words are God's actions, then we can live confidently, too, fully dependent on his reliable promises to save, uphold, protect, provide, guide and complete in us the good work He has begun. In the face of such truth, there is nothing left to do but to "ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name" and "worship the LORD in the splendour of holiness".

I'm not always as good as my word (so no promises on the timing of future posts!). You're not going to live up to every promise you make. And neither of us can turn on the lights just by opening our mouths. But we have a God who speaks and things are. Will that change how you pray and act today?

Moabite Descendants and Other Objects of Wrath

A couple months ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Orlando for the Gospel Coalition Women's Conference, a weekend of great teaching, some good rest, and the chance to hang out with some really old friends (time, not age!) and some brand-new friends. The final conference message was by Don Carson on Nehemiah 13*, addressing common pitfalls of reformation and revival, certainly helpful things to think through as we work and pray toward the growth of God's church here in Toronto. But of all the things he mentioned from this passage, it was an observation from his first point that I've really been thinking through in the last several weeks. Nehemiah 13:1-3 tells us that as the people listened to the law of God being read, they discovered that "no Ammonite or Moabite should ever enter the Assembly of God, for they did not meet the people of Israel with bread and water, but hired Balaam against them to curse them", and that as the people heard this, "they separated from Israel all those of foreign descent". Carson pointed out the danger of going beyond the law, of not only removing those God had specifically asked them to bar, but also anyone at all who was not of Israelite descent. The original law is from Deuteronomy 23, where it says that "no Ammonite or Moabite may enter the assembly of The Lord. Even to the tenth generation, none of them may enter the assembly of the LORD forever... You shall not seek their peace or their prosperity all your days forever." But then it goes on to say that "You shall not abhor an Edomite, for he is your brother. You shall not abhor and Egyptian, because you were a sojourner in his land. Children born to them in the third generation may enter the assembly of the LORD." So clearly, God is not barring all foreigners from the assembly of his people. Carson's point was that in our eagerness to be law-abiders, we can be tempted to go beyond God's requirements, setting up standards that are "higher" and more stringent than even what a holy and righteous God requires. Very true, and something to be guarded against.

But what has really struck me as I've reread the passages from Nehemiah and Deuteronomy over the past several weeks is not so much what WE do with God's standards, but what HE does. As I read Deuteronomy 23 and see the blunt statement that no Moabite is to be permitted in God's assembly, I cannot help but immediately think of the Bible's most well-known Moabite. "No Moabite may enter the assembly of the LORD forever". And yet... Turn over a couple books and find Ruth, a Moabite who, by God's own sovereign appointment, was not only brought into the people of God, but who was great-grandmother to the man after God's own heart, King David. Not even close to ten generations passed before God took the descendant of a Moabite and put him on the throne of Israel. And it doesn't even end there! Generations go by, hundreds of years pass, and who is David's descendant? Jesus himself, God's own son and Saviour of God's people. In his genealogy, Matthew reminds us in no uncertain terms that Ruth (along with a few other "unsavoury" characters) is in the very family line of Jesus.

How is it that God can forbid the inclusion of any Moabite or his descendant in his assembly and then turn around and bring his own son into the world as the descendant of a Moabite?  Only in the same way that we, who were once children of wrath like the rest of mankind, have been made alive together with Christ and seated with him in God's heavenly assembly. BUT GOD, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses... While we were still his enemies, pronouncing curses against God and his people, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, the son of a Moabite. His great-great-great grandmother was an object of wrath, brought into God's family by grace alone, and through his perfect life, death and resurrection, he now intercedes for all us Moabites who trust in him for our identity, so that we can stand in God's assembly without fear of rejection.

Our God is holy and righteous and his requirements are perfect and good, yes. And our God is unfathomably full of mercy and grace toward those who will come to him confessing that in and of themselves, they have nothing to offer and, in fact, no reason to even hope for his acceptance, apart from Jesus' perfect fulfillment of the entire law of God and his death on the cross for the curse we deserve.

"God so loved the objects of his judicial wrath that He made a sovereign, unconditional Promise to save them, not by setting aside the requirements of His holy Law, but by fulfilling them Himself, in the Person of His beloved Son! 'Lovingkindness and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other!' To God be the glory, forever and ever!" (Charles Leiter, The Law of Christ)

Do you know this mercy? And do you extend this mercy to those around you, to the outcasts, to the broken, to the rebellious, to those who don't meet your standards?

Let's rejoice today in such mercy extended to us, and may it flow through us to the world around us to the praise of God's glorious grace!

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*the full audio and video are available here

Superwoman Falls From The Sky

"Can we build it? Yes, we can!"
"We did it! We did it! We did it! Yay!"
Soundtrack of my life as a mother--in more ways than one.

Not only do kids' TV shows spout the "I can do anything I put my mind to" mantra. It's what I tell myself... all the time. For that matter, it's what I often hear about myself from others. And maybe it's your constant refrain, too. It's a wonderfully confidence-inspiring idea... If only it were true! Of course, if you've ever tried something like keeping your house perfectly tidy while several children inhabit it, you know that, well, just putting your mind to something doesn't always make it so!

But what about things that are actually possible for a human being? Indeed--and here is where I often struggle--what about areas where you are actually gifted, where you've excelled, or where you at least feel pretty capable? Sometimes--or if I'm honest, most of the time--I like to think that if I CAN do it, I SHOULD do it. It's kind of nice to be Superwoman, wind in my face as I jet through the sky and swoop down to save the day again and again and again, solving problems left and right, getting the job done, lifting enormous piles of responsibility high above my head with an appearance of ease. Having the applause of the people and my own satisfaction at another task completed doesn't hurt too much either.

Except that humans weren't made for this. Inevitably, real-life Superwomen fall from the sky, crushed by burdens they weren't made to bear. It can't all be done and done well. And if you've lived life believing that man was intended for flight, the fall can be hard.

For several years now, I have managed--by some manner of insanity and yes, only by God's grace--to run a household of 6 while homeschooling the kids, having people into our home frequently, baking all our bread and making healthy food from scratch, and blogging more or less regularly, in the midst of life fun including a pile of puppies, flooding, multiple moves, Nathan's major surgery, church planting, and the occasional panic attack. Nothing I felt totally unqualified to handle on its own. But the sum of the parts has proven greater than this woman's capabilities.

This spring, after a last few months of homeschooling that were sending me down a quick path to nervous breakdown, we finally made the decision to send our older three kids to school in the fall. This was not an easy decision. I believe that most any form of schooling can be done in a God-glorifying and family-benefitting way, and we've always been open to reevaluating our schooling choices each year, but now that it's moved out of the theoretical and into reality, I've discovered just how idolatrous my standard for myself really is. It's not that I'm afraid of school; in fact, I'm really excited about this new little school and the expanded opportunities our kids will have there. It's not so much that I'll miss having the kids around during the day; while I'm sure there will be days when I wish they were home, I'm looking forward to having more space during the day for my youngest, for the new business I've started*, and for building relationships within the church, the school and with our neighbours. No, what's made this decision especially difficult is that I won't be a homeschooling mom anymore. It means that I won't have that one massively extra thing on my resume of daily activities that makes people say, "I can't imagine how you do that!" It means that I've failed my own standard for how much I should be able to accomplish in a 24-hour period or a calendar year. Superwoman falls from the sky.

And yet, there is grace for this fallen superhero. Having idols exposed is a gift. Being forced to give up responsibility that was too great is a gracious invitation to rest. Recognizing weakness and limitations is an opportunity to lean hard on the strength that is only to be found in Christ. And getting knocked off my own pedestal brings with it more humility to accept others' limitations, too.

I can't do just anything I put my mind to. And there are times to say "no" even to things I am theoretically capable of, so that I can better serve my Lord, my family, my church, my neighbours. Life is not a superhero action flick or a kids' overly-confident TV programme. There has only really been one superhero, one who could do it all and bear up under it. And he's done it all so that I don't have to. His name is Jesus, and this failed superwoman is laying down her cape at his feet. Because that's precisely where it belongs.

________________________________________________________________
*Just to be clear, I didn't give up homeschooling in order to work. The work (which is only part-time) comes primarily out of a need to fund the kids' schooling, with the side benefit of being a good way to meet our neighbours.

Where is Martha-Martha?

I know my posts have been sporadic lately. Sporadic, as in, almost never. I keep hoping to write something, and then actually finish it and post it, but life regularly seems to get in the way. For one thing, it's summer time, which means that our somewhat dependable school-year schedule is no more and chaos reigns. Okay, not chaos, just different, which still has the effect of making it harder to accomplish things that once had a very specific place in my routine. On top of that, I started a new business a couple months ago ("coincidentally" coinciding with the sudden decrease in posts), and that has been taking large amounts of my time as I work on getting it off the ground. But I hope to get back to regular blogging in the fall as we get a school/work routine established. And in the meantime, I hope to find a little time for at least a post or two. We shall see.

The Joys of Sin Exposed

I feel like the past couple months have been a season of God exposing various sins in my life, and it hasn't exactly been pleasant. If you've ever had such a season, you know what I mean. We don't like to have our sins exposed. Most of us would be quite thankful to stuff them in the dark back corner of a closet, never to be seen again (and preferably never to be pulled out in the first place). But as I've thought and prayed and meditated on God's Word in this season, I'm also learning to be thankful for sin exposed.

I'm thankful that God sees my sin. We often shudder at the thought of a God who knows all that we do, who sees into the dark back corner of that closet and brings to light what is hidden there. We like to think it would be better if He could just ignore it, or better yet, be completely oblivious to it. But the fact of the matter is that if God didn't see or care about our sin, we'd be stuck with it with no hope of escape. We can't deal with the sin in our lives or its ramifications. "We hope for light, and behold, darkness; and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. We all growl like bears; we moan and moan like doves; we hope for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us..." (see Isaiah 59:9-15a)

BUT, the Lord saw it, and yes, it displeased him that there was no justice. And when he saw the sins of the world, ours included, he also saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no one to intercede, and so his own arm brought him salvation, and he sent a redeemer to his people. (Isaiah 59:15b-20)

Because God is fully aware of our sin and the condemnation it brings, and because he has compassion, he has also provided a way of escape through his son, Jesus, who died to take the penalty for all the sins I'm aware of, and all the ones that are still hidden from my eyes.

I'm thankful that God makes me aware of my sin. I am, of course, also thankful that he does this little by little and not all at once, as that would likely totally destroy me. But if he were simply to deal with the penalty for my sin and never confront me with its existence in my life, I would have at least two problems. One: I would not ever be fully aware of my desperate need for salvation and the ongoing help of the Holy Spirit. It is at the times when I am most aware of my sinfulness that I am also most aware of the beauty of God's grace and mercy toward me at the Cross. I would rather see my sin for what it truly is than to live in a permanent state of apathy toward my salvation. And two: I would never change. Acknowledgement of sin is the first step in turning away from it. Where I am not aware of wrongdoing, I just keep on running over those same ruts, living life the same way and ignorantly persisting in sin. But even as I pray with the Psalmist that God would forgive my "hidden faults", it is good when I am aware of the sin in my life so that I can pray and work toward change. It is far better to grow in grace and become little by little more like my Saviour than to go through life in "peaceful" obliviousness to my hidden faults. So I also pray, "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!" (Psalm 39:23, 24)

And I'm thankful that sin exposed and repented of is also removed from me as far as the east is from the west!

I don't enjoy having my sins paraded before me. There are days when the weight of my wrongs feels a little too crushing. But this is not a thing to despise. Just as in seasons of peace, these seasons of battle are God's care for his children, showing us that he is aware of our sin and has fully and finally dealt with it, and then making us abundantly grateful for our salvation and turning us bit by bit into the likeness of his perfectly sinless Son, all to his praise and glory. So I will rejoice in sins exposed, thank God for his kindness that leads to repentance, and by his grace turn around to walk in his ways, to the glory of his name.

Waste Places

Where are the waste places in your life? We all have them, whether they are dry, dusty deserts of secret sins and the apathy that accompanies them, or fields piled high with the rubble and casualties of bad decisions and overt rebellion, or just the wilderness that comes from living in a world damaged by sin in general. And sometimes when we look out over the landscape of our lives and see those waste places to our left and to our right, there can be a helplessness and a hopelessness about the whole thing. "I've been so angry and impatient with my kids the past few months and I'm reaping the fruit of dissension, distrust and general chaos in my home, but when my environment is so lacking in peace, what hope can I possibly have for changing my attitude, or that of my kids?" "I've worked so hard at this marriage but it just seems to get worse, and I make so many mistakes, not to mention the fact that I have no hope of controlling what he does!" "How many times am I going to give in to this same temptation? I just don't know if I will ever change!" "Stuck in a dead end job and I'm so discontent... How is anyone supposed to be joyful in circumstances like these?"

But there is hope and there is help for the waste places of our lives. I love this passage in Isaiah 51:

"Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness, you who seek the Lord:
look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug.
Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you;
for he was but one when I called him, that I might bless him and multiply him.
For the Lord comforts Zion; he comforts all her waste places
and makes her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of The Lord;
joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song."

Abraham and Sarah had waste places. They had been promised offspring as numerous as the stars and that they would bring blessing to all nations, and here they were barren, trying to get the promise by illegitimate means, laughing at God and quarreling with each other. A seemingly hopeless situation. But God did not leave them in the midst of that desert. Our God is a God who saves. He took an impossible situation, gave them faith, gave them a son, and through them created a people for His praise.

Your sin, the ways you are oppressed, the destruction and the hopelessness in your life are not the end of the story. Ever. We have a God who comforts his people in their waste places, and not just by smoothing things over and planting a few pretty flowers in the midst of the dust. Isaiah says that he makes our wilderness like Eden. J.A. Motyer says it like this: "Like Eden is not simply a figure of beauty and plenty but also one of the absence of the divine curse upon sin. The edict whereby God's fair creation became productive of thorns and thistles (Gen. 3:18) has been revoked and the way opened for wastelands to become places of joy."

And how does he do this? One must read through to the end of Isaiah 53 to see the salvation wrought for us by the Suffering Servant who laid down his abundant life in place of our wasted lives, who exchanged his righteousness for our complete lack of righteousness, and in so doing, has made a way for God to turn even the most destroyed and hopeless parts of our lives into beautiful gardens free of the curse of sin.

"Break forth together into singing, you waste places of Jerusalem,
for The Lord has comforted his people; he has redeemed Jerusalem.
The Lord has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations,
and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God." (Isaiah 52:9-10)

In light of this amazing truth, we are to depart from the waste places of sin, to touch no unclean thing, to pursue purity. But even here, God promises that we shall not go out in haste, in flight, in terror and anxiety, but rather that He himself will go before us and that the God of Israel will be our rear guard. (Isaiah 52:11-12)

God is bigger than our waste places, and he does not leave his people stuck in them forever. There is comfort and redemption for that desert ruin in your life, and when it comes, may you sing the praises of our Great Redeemer so that all the ends of the earth might see his salvation.

Swordsmiths and Ravagers

You may be familiar with the verse "No weapon that is fashioned against us will succeed" (or stand, or prevail or prosper, depending on your translation). It's used in a line in more than one Christian song, and it often gets quoted or prayed in situations where the church or individuals within the church feel under attack from other people or evil. And it is a Biblical promise. But I came across this verse this morning as I was reading Isaiah, and was struck by how much richer this promise is in its original context (not sure why I was surprised though; this is usually the case with one-liners from the Bible). I've generally thought of this concept of weapons not being able to stand against us as being simply of the "Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other" kind of assurance. And the element of God being more powerful than any weapon and therefore able to stop any weapon is, of course, true and biblical. But there's more to it than that. God is not just more powerful than any attack against his people.

This little well-quoted portion of a verse comes, first of all, in the larger context of Isaiah 51-55, which is all about God's redemption of his people by means of the "Suffering Servant" of Isaiah 53, the Saviour who was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities. In Isaiah 51, in the context of outlining God's redemption of his people, Isaiah speaks for God saying, "My salvation will be forever, and my righteousness will never be dismayed... Fear not the reproach of man, nor be dismayed at their revilings... I, I am he who comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies?" Paul, looking back at Isaiah from the perspective of Jesus' completed work at the cross, puts it this way in Romans 8: "What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?..."

So God is not just more powerful than evil forces and people, he has also shown his absolute commitment to the salvation and protection of his people at the cross of Jesus, and therefore we need not fear. But there is more. This is the immediate context:

"Behold, I have created the smith 
    who blows the fire of coals 
    and produces a weapon for its purpose. 
I have also created the ravager to destroy; 
    no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed, 
    and you shall confute every tongue that rises up against you in judgment. 
This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord 
    and their vindication from me, declares the Lord." 

In Isaiah's flow of thought, those weapons don't come out of nowhere, and they don't come from forces that swirl uncontrolled (but less powerful than God) somewhere out there. God says that he is the creator of both the weapon-maker ("the smith" who makes a weapon for a designated purpose) and the weapon-wielder ("the ravager"). And if he creates them both, then as his creations, they are fully subject to his authority and will. It is not the case that God fights on our behalf against less powerful, but fully-autonomous forces of evil out there. He fights on our behalf against less powerful and ultimately subordinate creatures that as Creator, he knows inside and out and controls for his purposes. And if the smith and the ravager are created by the same powerful God who calls us his people and willingly gave up his Son for us, how could their weapons possibly prevail against us?

Great Expectations

I've noticed over the years that Mother's Day is not always such a happy day for me. It started my first Mother's Day, when I woke up boiling with fever and spent the day in bed with my 8 week old. (Of course, it wasn't completely awful; she had just slept through the night for the first time!) And since then, there haven't been so many Mother's Days when I felt relatively relaxed and well-cared-for, able to enjoy a care-free, (mostly) trial-free day.

But Not-So-Happy Mother's Days are not the fault of my family. I get cards, I get help around the house, I get thoughtful gifts (whatever the wallet can manage, and sometimes beyond!). I'm pretty sure that these Not-So-Happy Mother's Days are actually the fault of me, myself and I. Or rather, of my own expectations. My problem is not that things are any worse on this one day of the year than on the others. My problem is my perspective.

There is something about any "appreciation day" that inspires selfish expectations in us. When there is a day on the calendar that gives honour to my role (or my birth, for that matter), my tendency is to assume that others should give me my due honour, and make the day worthy of me and my fantastic, awe-inspiring abilities and service toward those around me. But beyond the sinfulness of these selfish thoughts (though that were enough to condemn me), what I don't tend to realize is that such expectations are a recipe for disaster. When I set a standard in my own mind for what others should do for me or what a day should look like, anything less than my standard immediately looks like an abysmal failure. It won't really matter if my kids spend time on precious homemade cards with sweet messages in choppy handwriting if they don't also follow my (unspoken!) expectation that they stay quiet as little mice until at least 9 am so I can get a nice sleep-in on "my" special day. If my husband makes me breakfast, but doesn't clean up quite so nicely as I would prefer, breakfast in bed becomes a reason to grumble, not to rejoice. And if my standard is that the day be trial-free, even the smallest of trials (and doesn't every day have some?!) will easily seem to be much larger than it actually is. Take my fever, even. I've been sick plenty of other days that I don't recall the dates of. Why do I remember that one? Because it was supposed to be MY day.

Actually, that first Mother's Day is a good case in point. God gave me the oh-so-gracious gift of a full, unbroken night of sleep which I desperately needed, and which, had I had Facebook at the time, would have inspired an excited all-caps status all about the wonders of 9 straight hours of lost consciousness. But instead, because I was sick, and it was Mother's Day, I got stuck in the doldrums of "poor old sick motherly me". I forgot to keep my mind on what was worthy of gratitude and let it sit on my unmet expectations instead.

Do you have great expectations this year? Are you looking for ways that others can serve and appreciate you, or are you keeping your eyes low to the ground, recognizing that you deserve the worst--not just a noisy morning and a messy kitchen, but hell itself, remembering that despite what you really deserve, you have been shown incomprehensible mercy and grace in the person of Jesus, that you have been given the gift of life and piles of other undeserved gifts. I don't want the happiness of Mother's Day (or any other day) to be dependent on what others do for me, on how few troubles the day has, on how much time I'm able to spend doing what I want to do. Rather, I want to have that mind which is ours in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (No breakfast in bed there!) And it's because of his humility and obedience--not because he clamoured for it or demanded it--that God has exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:2-7)

The day is coming when all our earthly crowns--mothering crowns included--will be laid at the feet of the One who laid aside his crown for us, and there will be no thought for what others should do for our honour, but only what we might do for the honour of our Lord. And in the face of this, even the worst of Mother's Days can be joy-filled ones! How will I live this Mother's Day, and all my other days, with this great expectation?

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Another link on having a happy Mother's Day from GirlTalk

Hearing the Story With New Ears

"A long time ago, there was a very real man named Jesus, who was also really God, but for many years, he lived on this earth with people like you and me, and was a real live person like you and me... except that unlike you and me, he never, ever did anything bad or wrong. All of his life, he was kind and good and caring and faithful and obedient. But there were people who didn't like him and they wanted to kill him."

I'm telling the Easter story to a group of children, some of whom have heard it many times before and others of whom have never heard it at all.

"Have you ever had a friend or someone who said they loved you, but then they did something that hurt you or made you sad?" Most of the heads nod. "Jesus had friends like that, too. One of them, Judas, wanted to get some money, so he went and told the men who wanted to kill Jesus exactly where they could find him. Jesus knows what it's like to have friends who turn their back on you and hurt you.

"Or has anyone ever made fun of you?" More nodding. "Before the people went to have Jesus killed, they mocked him and teased him because he said he was the King. And even though he really was the King, they thought it was ridiculous, so they made him wear a pretend robe and put a crown--only it was made of thorns--on his head and made him march in front of all the townspeople. Jesus knows what it's like to have people laugh at you, even when you're not doing anything wrong."

One little boy, very concerned, pipes up. "But is Jesus dead now?"

"Hold on," I say. "We're not done with the story... So the soldiers took Jesus and they put him up on a cross. Do you know what a cross is?"

The kids who have heard this story before all say, "Yes." Among the kids who haven't, there is some confusion until I describe it a little and one of them says, "Is that like in Pirates of the Caribbean where those guys are hanging in the background?"

Um, possibly. I have yet to be able to sit through that film. But on I go to describe what happens next. The kids who are familiar with Good Friday don't bat an eye. But I am becoming acutely aware, as I briefly and without great detail reference the nails, the spear, the blood, the agony, that this story is hitting the new kids differently. I am beginning to realize just how horrid this story is. There is no G rating on the Easter narrative. When Jesus finally dies, a girl says, "Do I have to keep listening? This story is scary. And sad." Yes, dear, yes it is.

I have heard the story of Easter countless times. I have told it over and over again. But it's not often that I've been so aware of the darkness of the cross. Rarely have I really felt the confusion over this act of violence against God, against a good man, against a man who understands our deepest griefs and carries our sorrows. And never before have I felt such joyful relief as I arrive at the part of the story when I get to tell the kids that the tomb was EMPTY. That this man who died for our sins though he was sinless, this man who really and truly sympathizes with our pain and weakness, is no longer dead. He was dead, but he is not dead now. He is very much alive and his righteousness is very much ours who believe in His name!

Year after year, month after month, day after day, we reference the cross and the empty tomb. We hear it in sermons, we read it in books, we tell it amongst ourselves. And it can become stale. We can be like the kids who've heard this one a thousand times. Oh yes, Easter. When we celebrate how Jesus died on the cross and rose again. Wait. What?!

I don't want to lose the childlike view of the agonizing old rugged cross, nor the childlike wonder at the resurrection. I want more opportunities to see the story of Easter through the lens of a person who has never heard such a story before, through a child who sees the darkness of it and can't help but jump for joy at the ending (which is really a new beginning). And while I can't ever hear it again for the first time in reality, maybe my own ears can hear it in a fresh way if I keep telling it to those who haven't yet heard.

Light and Momentary

A couple nights ago, we had a conversation with another couple we hadn't seen for a while. As we were trying to place exactly how long it had been since we'd last seen them, she said, "I'm pretty sure your husband had broken his leg or something and was in a full cast." Ah, okay. It was about a year ago.

Wow! It was only a year ago! To be honest, it seems like far longer than a year ago that Nathan was essentially bound to a bed, hopped up on painkillers, and I was struggling to keep up with my normal tasks while taking care of many of the duties that Nathan would usually be doing. Less than a year ago that we spent a summer being able only to go to the tiny local park because the beautiful lakeshore park only a few blocks away was a little too far for Nathan to walk on his crutches. Seven months ago that he was hobbling around with a cane and I was starting to hope that life might return to normal. No time at all in the grand scheme of things, really. And yet now that we're out of that trial by half a year, it seems like a lifetime ago, a dream of something I once felt so keenly. A light and momentary trouble.

Sometimes it's funny to me how quickly we forget and move on after a major life adjustment, after a trial that in the moment seemed so profound, so impossible, so limiting. Fearful afternoons in the hospital with a feverish child after a seizure. Miscarriages that were heart-breaking and the resulting anxiety of wondering if I'd be able to carry another baby again. A job loss that put us in very difficult financial position for a little while. Praying fervently for family members and friends fighting cancer (some of whom are no longer with us; others are essentially back to normal life). And yet now, they are a distant memory, file drawers in the back of my mental library that I pull out from time to time and reflect on from the safety of the future.

It's not unlike childbirth. In the moment of it, when the pain feels like it is ripping you apart from the inside out and you wonder how you can possibly go on another five minutes, let alone hours, it seems like an eternal unbearable weight. If you don't actually scream "I don't want to have this baby!" like my mother did with one of us, you probably at least THINK it. Childbirth is intensely unpleasant and painful. But the moment that baby is out, the moment the hardest pain is in the past (even while contractions continue and the afterbirth is yet to arrive), your eyes and heart are so taken up with that beautiful baby in your arms, and the miracle of it all, that you can only think about joy. Almost as soon as it is over, the pangs of childbirth become a dull memory, so much so that the next time you go through it, it may actually surprise you a little with its intensity. What for the moment seemed painful and unpleasant is covered over in the joy of the beautiful fruit it produced.

Granted, there are trials and sufferings far more intense and longterm than what we've experienced, but the ending will be the same. When the trials finally come to an end and the devastating effects of them are merely stuff of earth that we see through a dim mirror in the face of heavenly glory, even the worst of our sorrows will seem but light and momentary.

If I could only really remember in the midst of a trial just how far away and long ago it will one day seem to me, if I could only hold on to the hope of an eternal weight of glory held up in store for those who suffer now for the sake of Christ, would I bear up with greater joy? Would I suffer in a way that would bring glory to the God who bears us up and makes beauty out of ashes? Would I be willing to suffer MORE so that many who don't now know the hope of eternal life would have the opportunity to know it?

Maybe you're waiting for something. Maybe you're stuck in a winter that won't go away. But our hope is not just in the end of waiting and the coming of spring. We have the hope that even the worst of our current afflictions will one day look light and momentary, and our eternal future will be weighty with glory. How will we suffer in light of this hope?

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Spring Does Come

It's been a pretty brutal winter. From the ice storm at Christmas that left a good bit of the city in the dark for days to the unusual cold this year to the frostquakes to the fact that winter just hasn't seemed to want to go away, most of us are more than a little ready to see spring. I don't normally mind the cold and snow, but there comes a point every year--generally around the end of February--when I start to wish it away. And with a harder winter, these longings are all the greater.

Now we're in that period of time when winter and spring are battling it out. I haven't decided whether winter is harder in January or in that season when spring seems like it could start tomorrow but there's no way to tell. One day it seems like spring is winning, and the next day, there's snow on the ground and ice hanging off the balcony again. The keys are constantly changing hands between the pockets of the winter coat and the spring jacket. And there is a lot of MUD out there. Even Easter was late this year. But if you look closely, you'll notice that the grass gets a little greener every day. Each time I'm outside, there are a few more buds on the trees. Even when our hope for spring gets crushed a little by another cold snap, we can be sure that it will eventually come, even if we have to wait for June. Spring has yet to completely fail us.

Every year--and this one especially--the slight undertone of green in that dry, brown grass reminds me that despite the hardships, isolation, storminess, death and bleak grayness of winter, spring is coming. Hope is not dead. It's an old analogy, but I am thankful each year for the ending of winter because it is an annual reminder that God is still able to create new life where there was death, to restore to youth and vitality that which was old and barren, to refresh and remake what looks dry and incapable of bringing forth life.

Wait For It...

"Are we there yet?" "How much longer?" "We've been on this road for HOURS!" I think I heard these lines more times than I could count last week as we traveled down to Louisville and back. Our kids don't like to sit in the car and wait. They have no appreciation for the joys of the journey. They just want to get to the destination.

But even people who get as much satisfaction out of the drive as they do reaching the final stop aren't necessarily good at waiting when it comes to life. And life is FULL of waiting. I was reminded of this as I talked to some old friends last week, some of whom started their schooling for ministry at the same time we did and who are just now getting a ministry position, others of whom started a long time ago and are still waiting for a place to go. We had to wait what seemed like a long time to us, and even now that we're "there", there are still plenty of things we're waiting on. If you live long enough on this earth (i.e., more than a few minutes) there will be things to wait for. And you'll quickly realize that many of the things we wait for are not things we have control over. If we did, we probably wouldn't be waiting, because waiting is hard. Often when we have to wait for something we get impatient. We may attempt to take matters into our own hands and find a shortcut (experience teaches that this is not usually a good idea). It's why the Bible has to remind us over and over again to wait on The Lord, wait for The Lord, calm and quiet our souls and WAIT.

In a season of waiting for things we desire, things we believe God desires but is not yet giving us, and things that seem good but may not be ours to have in this life, Isaiah 40-41 is an excellent passage to meditate on. I've been soaking in it for a few weeks now, and every time I read it, different phrases or verses jump out at me, giving me new hope, new joy, new reasons to keep waiting. In these chapters, we are told several things about God that inform our waiting. Here are seven of them (there are more, but I don't have time to write a book):

Seeing God's Glory in the Small Steps

We're off for the week, spending time down in Louisville, Kentucky with Nathan's brother and family, and reconnecting with many friends from the four years we lived here, as well as friends we've made on visits since our move back to Toronto, and a few friends FROM Toronto who are here for the same conference we're down for. Louisville is a place where we get to pick up where we left off with several people (Don't you love friends like that?). And it's also a place where we've already heard several times the question we'll hear several more times over the course of the week: How are things going with the church plant?

Depending on who asks it, that question can come with varying amounts of external pressure: everything from the person you know is really hoping to hear about hundreds gathered and many new Christians to the really good friends who would still support you if you told them it had totally failed (it hasn't), and all the people somewhere in between. But regardless of where the asker falls on that continuum, WE feel the desire to be able to talk of great revival and piles of visible fruit. WE want to feel we've accomplished something, that this endeavor is the best thing out there, that we deserve the full support of everyone who asks. And when we don't have an endless supply of stories about how we see God working, it's easy to want to exaggerate, to leave out the unpleasant bits and discouragements, to convince ourselves that things are far better than the reality. I've felt this temptation many times already this week!

Moving Community

I am sitting on the couch in our new condo, looking out over the lake (and the traffic on the Gardiner) and thinking about God's goodness to us in the way he has answered our prayers for another place to live and, even more, in the way he has lavishly cared for us in both big ways and small over the course of the last 3 weeks. I could spend lots of time detailing all the ways this new place is a blessing, but really, more than the lovely view, the better layout, the possibility of baths again after 6 years without (don't worry; there HAVE been showers) and the pleasant lack of mould, I have been most struck by God's care for us in the community he has surrounded us with. This move has been far more than a single family taking their stuff down the block to a new living space. From start to finish, it has involved a whole community of people, some of them dear friends and others I've only spoken to a few times, some of them in multiple ways and others in just one thing, but one thing that nonetheless made a difference.

It has been a practise of mine, whenever we've experienced mass outpourings of care, to note down the details of how God has blessed us through the generosity and service of others, so as to remember in future circumstances how God has always provided for us in the past, and also because making such lists makes me realize something more of how massive and detailed God's care for us really is. So here is how a community moved us this past month:

- Many, many of you have been praying for us since you heard that we had to find a new place, and have praised God with us since you heard that a place was provided. God has answered the prayers of his people, and we are very thankful for your support!

- A friend and real estate agent kept an eye out for listings, showed us the place 3 weeks ago, handled all the negotiating (including getting the rent down) and the paperwork, and all to no personal financial benefit.

- Another friend, upon realizing how quickly we needed to get out of one place and into another, took it upon herself to handle all the organization of scheduling and labour so that we could focus on packing. This was a huge amount of work off our backs, and allowed us to get everything else done in time.

- The truck rental, plus two movers, was arranged, paid for and completely taken care of by someone else.

- Two different people loaned us piles of boxes so we didn't have to scrounge up or pay for any of our own.

- Various people cared for our kids last weekend during the move so that we could not only have them out of the way for the actual box lifting, but also so that we could get things somewhat arranged in the new place before we added 4 kids to it. One person took them for a full day and overnight, and they had such a good time that when I went to pick them up the next morning, they didn't want to come home. Several others kept them very happily occupied the whole next day, and one more afternoon after that. This meant that we got more done, and the kids still had lots of attention and fun.

- A neighbour took the dog for the weekend and brought us breakfast the morning after the move.

- Another neighbour took care of the pizza for the moving help, though we were the ones who had originally offered to provide pizza for helpers.

- Two different people spent hours cleaning the old place, and someone tidied up the new place before we moved in.

- Our new next-door neighbours greeted us warmly the day we moved in, and showed up a few days later with vouchers for our whole family to attend a kids' film festival next month. They've assured us that they don't mind the noise of the kids at all (praying this will still be the case in 6 months!).

And of course, we are thankful for the several people who disassembled furniture, reassembled furniture, and moved heavy boxes down 4 flights of stairs and then over to the new place (thankfully with the help of an elevator here).

We are expectedly quite tired after a speedy move (hence the lack of post last week), but had we not had all the assistance God provided (and none of it at our own request or initiative), I don't even want to think about how much LESS time and energy we would have, and how much longer the move recuperation period would have been. We prayed that God would show himself to be glorious in the course of this move, and he has done so in many ways, but most of all by moving a community of people to come around us and blow us away with their care, service and generosity. We are incredibly thankful to have a God who so delights to care for his children in every little detail of our lives, and pours out abundant kindness on us even in the midst of trials he sends us, so that we might learn to trust in him as the good Father that he is.

Two Perspectives on Parenting

Stephen Altrogge has an interesting money-making idea. He wants to gather all the parenting gurus into one space, and then have parents pay a dollar each to be allowed to slap every one of these authors in the face. He's pretty sure it would make him some serious bank, because haven't most of us wanted just such an opportunity at some point (or many points) in our parenting? Of course, he doesn't really mean it (I think?!); in his hilarious essay The Inmates Are Running the Asylumin the new book of the same title, he does give credit to the wisdom of many books on parenting. But this essay got me to thinking about the helpfulness of having two different perspectives in our life as parents (and really, in any sphere of life).

We were once part of a wonderful church community that was full of young parents. It seemed like everyone had kids the same ages as ours. Our kids had multiple options for playmates; we had people with whom we could swap date-night childcare; when the going was tough, friends would readily weep with you because the memories of similar struggles were so very fresh in their minds. We had all the sympathy in the world. But when we didn't know what to do in a parenting situation, we often had very little help (not never, just often). Even the "older" parents were only a couple years ahead, and often, questions were answered with either, "I have no idea what to tell you because we're struggling with the same thing right now" or "Well, this book I read says..." When we lacked wisdom on an issue where there was no clear biblical directive, we needed parents with a proven track-record who could share what had worked and what hadn't. And while the books were helpful, we longed for some real-life next-door-neighbour kind of wisdom from people who knew us and our kids and our situation.

After several years, we moved to another city and were part of another wonderful church community. And this time, there were multiple parents with years and years of parenting experience behind them. When we had a question, there were many trusted people we could ask, and the answers we received were genuinely insightful and helpful. I read fewer parenting books during that time because the information I was looking for was readily available at our church from people who DID know us and our kids and our situation. But for a while, we were one of the only young families in the church, and this brought with it struggles of its own. Suddenly, we felt like we had all the wisdom in the world at our fingertips, and not so much in the way of real-time sympathy. I don't mean to say that these dear friends weren't gracious or caring, or that they didn't remember anything about having small children. They were incredibly so, and they did. But there is something different about not only having people who have walked the road you're on, but who are walking it alongside you RIGHT NOW. We were so grateful for all the wisdom, and yet longed for other young parents who were feeling enough of the insanity of parenting at that moment that they could assure us that we weren't totally crazy ourselves.

Reminders of Grace

Last week, I was a mess. Well, actually, I've been something of a mess for the past month, but last week was particularly unpleasant. A perfect storm of hormones, badly planned schedules, deadline pressures and kids who are more than ready for a spring romp around the park left me feeling more monster than human. Or perhaps I just felt more human than I'd like to think I am. I had to repent on far too many occasions of anger, selfishness, impatience, pride and general lack of grace, joy or hope.

So it was in some ways rather amusing for it to be a week in which several different people sent notes about how my writing had been an encouragement to them, and also a week in which we were informed that we make raising four kids look easy, and in which my kids--at their own initiative--put time into writing me letters about how much they love me. It was amusing, and at the same time humbling, because half the time I'm struggling to put into practice the things I write about, and more than half the time raising four kids makes me feel like I'm on the edge of insanity.

The truth is, I'm just an ordinary woman. I lack wisdom, I have to fight unbelief (and I don't always win), and I'm a sinner. I write about putting my trust in God rather than earthly things, and then I have a week where I put my trust in myself and end up like the peg in Isaiah 22 that gives way under the undue pressure put on it. I write about Jesus being my Sabbath rest and then I go through the week just clinging to the hope of some sleep on the weekend. I write about preparing for hormone dips, and then get myself into some trouble by forgetting to do just that. I write about seeing trials as glorious opportunities to see God's work, and then feel like I'm fighting to the death against my craving for comfort and ease. (Just keeping it real here, folks!)