Divine Orchestrations

 Little one in tow, I was leaving the chiropractor's office, when I realized that I had to pee.  But walking back in to an unfriendly receptionist with a hyper two year old, did not excite me.  I weighed my options.

Option 1: Go home to pee and pull struggling child out of car, walk from the parking lot to my door on the far end and then repeat process?  Please no!!!

Option 2: Continue on the grocery store at the mall.  Park by the grocery store, but walk through the mall to the bathrooms with screaming, struggling child as I left my handy-dandy Ergo at home?  Shoot me first, please!!!


 Option 3:  Drop in at my mother-in-love's for a short visit and a pee break.  Perfect!

 I called, she was there, over we went.   Shamed, I didn't tell her that I needed to pee, just said we wanted to visit.  Happily, my little monkey leapt from the van, eager to see his grandma.  Shaking garden dirt from her boots, she grabbed the mail and welcomed us in.  Then, she paused.  Shuffling through her stack of mail, she found a Christmas card.  No biggie, or it wouldn't have been, but this was addressed from her dear uncle who died almost two weeks ago.  She stopped, turned, and then grabbed me in a bear hug as tears began to swell.  I hugged back, understanding, marvelling at the grace and preparedness with which this beloved man approached death.  Briefly, my other mother grieved, and then letting go, commented how glad she was that I was there.

 I knew right then that this visit wasn't me being lazy or impatient or too scared of snooty receptionist.  This was, without doubt, the hand of the Divine.  I am awed, humbled, shocked by the orchestrations this great God will take to comfort His distressed child.  He knew what she would need.  He sent me without me even knowing to be His hands, His arms.  My thoughts splinter and I wonder what opportunities I miss when I try to be strong instead of being me.  I wonder if God loves me that much too?  I wonder and wonder and ponder and hope to not soon forget the reality of being sent.

 As is my Thursday custom, I join with Emily and the Imperfect family today.

For Dinner Tonight I Made....

 Recently I have been much more creative than usual.  Creativity has just been oozing out in many different forms.  My favourite is, as always, food.  Typically I bake something on Wednesdays so I can test it on the unsuspecting members of my small group, but we skipped small group tonight.  Since I wasn't baking, I decided to try something different.  Tonight I made pizza!

 I've never done this before, so I was a little nervous, but also very excited.  I kept wanting to message Steve that I was making an awesome surprise for dinner, but never quite got there.  I managed to get some of my ingredients on sale(priced to clear is my favourite!).  I put the dough in the oven to rise while I collected the children from school.  They were very excited about helping.

 The recipe I used made enough dough for three crusts, but I only needed two so we froze the third.  Aris rolled out one crust, while Kian did the other.  They both did very good jobs, although Aris' was much better.  She decorated her pizza all by herself and did a phenomenal job.  I should have taken pictures because it was amusing how much better than mine hers was.  She won for most beautiful pizza.  I won for messiest and most toppings. :)  Aris made a standard pizza with tomato sauce, pepperoni, cheese, black olives, mushrooms and some broccoli.  Okay, so maybe it wasn't that standard after all.  My pizza had homemade pesto sauce, cheese, chicken, tomatoes, olives, red onions, black olives, some mushrooms for steve, broccoli, and some pepperoni that Kian sneaked on.  My pizza was loaded!  As a result the crust was rather soggy, but oh was it good!

 We had a blast making pizza.  I've never made it before.  Although there were some frustrations, it was such a fun family event and a fun surprise for Steve.  We had enough leftovers that both Aris and Steve will be taking some in their lunches tomorrow. :)

Yoga Night

This evening I dragged myself out of the house for yoga.  I've been taking yoga since Kian was 6 weeks old and it's been a very good thing for me, both mentally and physically.  But when the chronic fatigue first hit in April, I was done.  Yoga turned into a nightmare for me.  I kept going for a while, but eventually gave myself permission to stop.  Then I started needing that outlet again.  I've been attending in spurts- three weeks on, three weeks off.  Tonight I felt well enough to go, so I did. Class was a blast!  I'm not sure what was going on, but we laughed a lot! Along with the laughter, we did some different poses like dead bug(the real name, I kid you not) and rolled around on the ground with our feet in the air.  Then we laughed some more.  It was good and I feel so much better! *happy sigh*

Date Night!

 Pinching ones thumb in the doorjam to ones room both requires a lot of talent and sets a very bad tone for the rest of the day.  It also leaves one grumpy and prone to meltdowns, especially when a certain two year old decides to throw things at Mommy's sore thumb.  Then one might have a meltdown.

 Later, after apologizing for said meltdown, ones husband might decide that his wife REALLY REALLY REALLY needs to get out of the house.  So this wonderful man might ask his parents if they would babysit and his equally wonderful parents might agree.  In the end, one still has a very sore thumb and may very well lose the nail, but one feels much more human again.  *happy sigh*

The end.

Punctuation

Sometimes my days seem so strange.  Maybe everyone experiences this, but my days just don't flow smoothly.  Today was punctuated by screaming, or at least that was what it felt like.  I woke up to a massive screaming fit that involved all three of my children, but thankfully not my husband.  We attended a lovely church service.  After singing the closing hymn, the woman in front of me turned around specifically to comment on how wonderful my voice was.  She asked why I wasn't singing on stage and sharing my talent with everyone else.  I was a bit shocked, since I don't sing very well anymore, but responded that this was only our fifth Sunday at this church.  We chatted and met her father-in-law as well.  It was encouraging, not just the compliment but the making of new friends.

 After we left the church, there was screaming. Then more screaming.  Then lunch and more screaming.  Then our neighbour's party which had much less screaming, but also less English.  However, I was content to be different, since there was significantly less screaming.  I ducked out of the party early to attend a Taize service(a quiet meditative reflective service?), but took the primary screamer with me.  She was very good and sat quietly for the entire hour.   Thankfully she had exhausted most of her screaming by the time we returned home.

 After I put her to bed, I went back to the party for my cake.  I was planning on eating quickly and then curling up on my bed with a book, but instead ended up having a serious discussion about why I am a Christian as opposed to any other religion.  These discussions are fascinating, yet challenging as I'm discussing them with my friend who is far more learned than I am.  He's doing post-doctoral work, I'm an university drop-out.  But we had an interesting discussion with Steve filling in concepts when I forgot the words to explain them.  Thankfully there was no screaming to punctuate this discussion, just chocolate cake.

 I am thankful for silence, for days filled with interesting events and friends.  I am thankful for cake, for friends from different cultures, but most of all for bedtime.  Oh and I'm very thankful for my wonderful husband who holds my hand, sits very close to me in church, and speaks for me when I have lost my words.

Happiness

Yesterday Steve commented that I"m the happiest I've been in a long time this week. I think he's right.

Remembrance

 We walk into church late-ish, just as the first song ends and the welcome begins.  I am feeling in control, diaper bag all packed for the boys' afternoon stay with their grandparents, me all dressed up in my new best, make-up done, hair brushed, black shoes found, ready for the memorial service later because there is no going home today.  I slide in, breathe a sigh of relief.  But then I see the poppies red pinned to every breast and my heart sinks.  My poppies rest at home, stuck on the bulletin board.

 Without the plastic flower, I look like the post-modern skeptic that many of my generation are.  When sacrifice is not having the absolute latest technical gadget and wars are fought in faraway places, depicted as either a strike for freedom or an oil grab, we lose perspective and dismiss those long ago battles along with those fought present day. When our brave men and women keep coming home in body bags, but stability is ever far away, war seems senseless.  There seems to be no good reasons to fight, we are disillusioned and extend that to our view of history and our heroes.  So many don't wear a poppy.  Pages come up rebuking Remembrance Day as a celebration of war.  Slowly the memories fade as each year there are less veterans walking in the parade, as digital media becomes more important than listening to the stories of the great-grandparents who carry those memories in their hearts, or engraved on their bodies.

I look like one, but am not.

 For I remember.  I've read stories, both real and fictional, of the sacrifices made, the sorrows and horrors witnessed.  I've listened to my grandmother tell her stories of her part in the war effort.  I've studied not just the war, but the war effort and how it shaped my country, my province and my city.  I've seen the cenotaphs in every city and town I've visited, engraved with the list of those fallen overseas.  My great-uncles served as pilots, my grandmother as a bookkeeper in the WAVES, my one grandfather as a volunteer in the Coast Guard, my other grandfather was in basic training when the war ended.  I remember, not the supposed glory of the war, but of the great sacrifice everyone of that period made.

 Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters all said goodbye.  Some were lucky enough to say welcome home, but then walked for years alongside those coping with brutal memories of bloodshed.  All came home wounded, some physically, all haunted by those memories that couldn't be put away like the uniforms and medals given. People went years rationing simple luxuries like sugar or butter or meat, sacrificing everything for the war effort.  It wasn't in vain.

 So today, and often, I remember.  I remember that evil can flourish if not dealt with, even in our own hearts if not guarded properly.  I remember that sometimes great sacrifices are needed and I wonder if I could make them.  I remember a whole generation who sacrificed everything, even their best and brightest.  I remember the beginning of Canada's nationhood.  I may not wear my poppy, but today and always, I remember.

 And as I remember, I join with Emily today.