Leanne Friesen

It is just a few short days until one of my favourite holidays – Valentine’s Day.  I have always loved Valentine’s Day, even the many February 14s I spent without a Valentine to call my own.  I just dig a day that invites us to celebrate love.  Our kids love it too, but in our house, it is not just Valentine’s Day – February 14 is also “Cashew’s birthday.”  His birthday was February 14, 2003 – the first Valentine’s that I spent with Dallas.

I remember that first Valentine’s Day very well.  We had been dating just a few months and it was my first Valentine’s Day in LONG time with a real legit honest-to-goodness boyfriend – so I was excited. However, as we were both students, we did not have a lot of money for presents. We agreed to keep it simple. I bought Dallas a book. Dallas showed up for our Valentine’s Dinner with flowers and a present in a gift bag. As I opened it, he was nervous.  “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he said, as I pulled out a teddy bear.  “Maybe you think we’re too old to be getting stuffed animals…” He was anxious, but I assured him that I LOVED it. And I did.  I explained to him that it was actually the first time a guy had EVER given me a stuffed animal, and it seemed like a special milestone, even if I was 25 when I was reaching it.

The bear was a caramel coloured Gund with a little name tag attached that said “Cashew.”  I put him on my dresser, and a few months later when we got married he lived on the dresser in the bedroom of our first apartment.  Then, a few years later, when we had our son, he lived on the dresser of our son’s bedroom in our first house. As our son got bigger, he played with him sometimes.  This meant that the name tag had to go (choking hazard, don’t you know), but we could easily remember his name by that point.

A couple years later when our daughter came along, Cashew was still a part of our household, and I don’t know exactly how, or when it happened but at least by her first birthday (as photos will prove) Lucy claimed Cashew as her own. And she fell in love.

 

If any of you reading this spend any time with us, you have met Cashew.  Cashew goes everywhere with Lucy.  He attends church most Sundays.  He sleeps with her every night.  When she attended daycare, the staff would bid Cashew good morning each day.  He is absolutely pitiful looking now.  Most people like to comment that he looks “well loved.”  His fur is wearing down in places, and he’s lost stuffing.  He is stained, and he has a hole by his nose.  But Lucy sees none of it. Just the other day it was “bring a toy” day to school.  Lucy was bouncing with excitement that she could finally bring Cashew to school so her “friends could meet him.” When she came home, she couldn’t understand why no one else wanted to play with him.  She was heartbroken that her friends hadn’t loved Cashew as she does.  And how do you explain to a 4 year old: “Well, sweetie, most kids don’t want to play with a worn, sagging, holey stuffed animal” (unless it’s their own worn, sagging, holey stuffed animal…).  She felt like they had rejected her best friend, and, indeed – they had.

I had no idea when Dallas gave me that bear 12 years ago what a huge part it would be of our lives. How could I have imagined the hours we would spend looking for him – in panic – when we couldn’t find him? How could I have known that we would carry that bear around the country, from one side to the other again and again? How could I have known about the beautiful little girl that would hold him close to her each night and rub his nose so she could fall asleep?

All I knew then was that I was in love with a pretty great guy, who had bought me my first Valentine’s teddy bear and that, as uncertain as he seemed about it, it felt like the perfect present.

A while ago Lucy asked me when Cashew’s birthday was (because, you know, clearly he would have a birthday, what with him being basically real and all).  I told her it was Valentine’s Day, and about Dallas giving him to me.  “He gave you a stuffed bear even though you weren’t a KID?” she said.  She thought it was pretty funny. I told her that I loved it, and that he could not have given me anything better.  She agreed.

So on Saturday, we will all say “Happy Birthday, Cashew!” – because that’s the kind of thing you do when your four year’s old bestie turns 12.   And I will remember:  sometimes, you truly cannot imagine how much something – or someone- can be loved.

I did not know Cashew would know so much love that first Valentine’s Day.  I did not know that receiving that gift was the start of a beautiful relationship between a child and her beloved favourite toy.  But what I really did not know that first Valentine’s Day was that the love I felt for Dallas, and his for me, was also just starting. I did not know how much more love there was to come; I did not understand that it was just the start of a beautiful relationship, that would only grow more beautiful as it got more worn, more tattered, and more messy – kind of a like a much loved teddy bear.

Sometimes our culture tells us the lie that the best part of love is at the beginning.  That marriage “kills” love. That you should want your relationship to be like it was in those early days, when you were “so in love,” and that you should seek new relationships when you need to recapture that feeling.

Don’t believe it.

Let Cashew remind you – you can never imagine how much more love there can be to come.

Happy Birthday Cashew!

(And Happy Valentine’s Day, Dallas…it really has only gotten better).

One of the areas that I feel like this blog helps to address is the experience of grief and loss. Today I want to share a few thoughts that I think might be helpful for people who are experiencing a fresh loss – the people’s whose wounds are newly open and for the first time are trying to swim in the waters of grief. Here are a few practical things that I have learned/helped me/I wish I had known/others have told me as you negotiate these early days. I have absolutely no idea why I felt like writing this today, except I did, and here it is:

1. Beware of The Perils of Facebook

There will be many days that Facebook just ticks you off. You will read things that people post that will sound either insensitive or like total whining. You’ll read people’s very normal status updates and it will take all your willpower not to write a comment saying: “REALLY? A store closing? Bad weather? Your toe hurts? THAT’S your biggest problem??” It will not be rational, but it will be real.

You may need to take a step back from reading status updates. You will need willpower to remind yourself that your friends are not trying to post things to drive you crazy. Refrain from the comments.

The other danger is using Facebook to validate your grief. Facebook can be a blessing and curse in this way. In the early days, you will post about your loss and you will get tons of comments, likes and messages and it will be a huge source of support. Then, on a rough day a couple weeks later, you will post again about your hurt…or your struggle to get through it…or that you’re having a bad day. And there won’t be as many comments. As the months go by the posts about your loved one will receive less and less acknowledgement. You will feel like people don’t care. But that isn’t it. It’s just that people can’t carry the grief of others to the same depth you are carrying it indefinitely. If we all did, the world would fall apart. So post with caution – if you just want to get your feelings out there, great. If you are hoping for a post to give you support from others, perhaps reconsider.

2. Be Prepared for the “pity face” and the “awkward moments”

These moments will take you off guard. You are thinking of the one you lost often and it will be natural for you to talk about them, share a story in conversation, say their name. Before, when you talked about the one you lost, it was just another person you were telling a story about. But it changes when the person dies. Now, you get the “pity face.” People don’t just laugh at a funny story; they say “Aww….what a special memory.” They get awkward.
Be prepared that this may happen…but, also, push through. When you need to say their name, say it. When you want to talk about them, talk about them. Those close to you will soon get used to it and the awkwardness will subside. Really.

3. Embrace the Grief Cloud

One thing that I hear most people talk about is feeling like they were walking around in a daze in the early days of grief. You’re in the cloud when you suddenly realize you’re not really paying attention to conversations around you. You’re in the cloud when you realize that someone’s asked you something and you didn’t hear them. You are not going crazy – you are grieving. I think the cloud is protective in those early days. You have a lot to get through and sometimes the only way to even survive is to live in the cloud. So you keep going, you wander, you do the routine. Your head is just not entirely present. It’s in the grief cloud – and that’s okay.

4. Be Gentle with Yourself

I’ve said this so often when I’ve talked about grief here. Take a break from some things. Say “no” more often. I said “yes” to some extremely stupid things when I was first grieving, but I didn’t know – I didn’t know that the old Leanne would be gone for a little while as I figured out who the new Leanne would be. I didn’t know that things that would normally drain me a little emotionally would wipe me dry in those early days of grief. I didn’t know that some nights I would just need to sit and look at old pictures and remember stories and not talk to anyone, which brings me to my next point…

5. Make Grief Time

In our overly scheduled worlds, it seems hard to believe that we need to schedule time to grieve, but it is true. You may actually need to make room in your schedule for time when you can totally fall apart. A good friend of mine gave this advice early on, and she could not have been any more right.

Grief time can mean different things for different people. It can mean taking a night to look at old pictures or videos, to watch the DVD the funeral home made over and over, to listen to a favourite song on repeat. It doesn’t necessarily mean time to cry, but it does mean that if you felt tears coming it would be safe to let them flow.

6. Tell People

One thing that is surreal after a loss is the realization when you meet people or see people you don’t know as well as others that they have no idea what you are going through. It took me a while to learn how to just say “I just lost my sister.” And when I did, I was always glad. It wasn’t because people had necessarily had great things to say or support to offer (though they often did). It just felt better to name the elephant in the room that lived in my head. So tell people. Say it out loud often. Like with Facebook, you may not always get the hoped-for response – and it is still good.

This also includes telling people what you need or don’t need. If you are overwhelmed or having a bad day, let people know. If you have a friend who you feel is being insensitive, tell them what you need them to do differently. People will ask you how they can help – be honest with them. Say “What I most appreciate is when I get a call once in a while asking me how I’m doing” or “If I want to talk I’ll let you know,” or “I’d appreciate it if you came to the funeral.” YOU set the tone. People won’t know what you need unless you can tell them, as best as you are able. I wish I had found a better way to express what I needed to people in my life. By the time I ended up feeling ready to talk I felt like it was “too late” – like people had already moved on and it would be unfair to go back.

This chart expresses my journey:

What I said in those early days	What I wish I’d said looking back six months later
“I’m doing okay”	“I’m having a really hard time, but I struggle to talk about it.”
“Of course you can talk to me about your problem”	“It’s hard for me to hear about this problem right now, because my heart is so full with my own loss.”
*Silence*	“I need to talk right now.  I don’t know what I need to say. But I need to try.”
(In response to “How are you?”/ “How’s it going?”/  “What’s up?”): “I’m good!/”Okay”/”Not much”	“The truth is, I am not great, because my sister just died.”
(In response to: “Would you like to participate in ___?”/ “Can you help with ___?”): “Okay!”	“No.”

Of course I know, you won’t get everything “right.” I can give you all the advice I want, and you’ll still wish you’d done things some things differently. If you are new to grief, take this advice for what it is: some ideas that might help, and some that you may not find as useful.

What I’d like to say to you most if you are newly grieving is: “I’m sorry for your loss. May you know God is close. May you sense Him holding your broken heart.”

If you have been through loss, what would you want someone who is newly grieving to know?  Do you agree or disagree with this list?  Would you add anything?  

As we have been journeying through Genesis at our church, I recently had the opportunity to speak on the story of Cain and Abel, the first recorded children of Adam and Eve. The story is told in Genesis 4, and I have always felt like it is very sad. It jumps into the story by saying that Cain and Abel each bring an offering to God – Cain of fruit from the land and Abel, fat offerings from his animals. It then says that God “looked with favor” on Abel’s offering, but that on Abel’s he “did not look with favor.” Cain, seemingly blinded by his frustration with his brother, invites Abel into a field and murders him.

Later, God finds Cain and asks him what he has done. Cain plays dumb at first, but of course God knows what has happened. He tells Cain that he will now be banished from the region of Eden. He will lose God’s protection as a consequence of actions. He will now be a “restless wanderer.”

There’s a lot that I could write about this story, and a lot of questions we could consider. I could spend a lot of time analyzing the theories as to why Abel’s offering was accepted and not Cain’s. There are lots. I could also write about what it is in all of us that makes us take our frustration with our own failures out on others. After all, Abel did absolutely nothing to Cain. And God even told Cain “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?” Yet, instead of changing his ways or trying again or repenting to God, he lashes out at Abel and four chapters into the Bible we’ve already got a murder on our hands.

But the thing that has really stuck with me in the week and half since I preached this sermon is something different that any of that. It is the question of what it looks like to live as people carrying a mark of grace. That is what I want to write about.
First, I need to finish the story.

After God tells Cain his punishment, Cain is overwrought. He pleads with God: “This punishment is too much for me!! If anyone sees me they will kill me!!” And God says to him: “No. Anyone who harms you will be punished.” Then it reads: Then the LORD put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him. That’s what I call a mark of grace.

Cain deserved to be punished. Cain murdered his brother for no other reason than jealousy. He killed him in cold blood, and he didn’t repent – he lied when he was asked about it. There are right consequences to that kind of behaviour. Cain would be removed from relationships for destroying one of the ones closest to him. That is a logical consequence. That is justice.

And I like justice, I really do. I like the idea that there is a right consequence for hurtful behaviour. I long for justice in a world where so often there is no consequence for those that deserve it. I would want someone who harmed my child to go to jail. I would like the guy who cheats on my friend to get dumped by his next girlfriend. I’d like the person who speeds by me on the highway to get a speeding ticket.

God is a God of justice, and I like that too. We see it in this passage. Cain experiences it firsthand. But the story doesn’t stop at justice. As one author writes “God holds justice in one hand, and mercy in the other.” This story is a perfect example. Yes, Cain would have a just consequence for what he had done, but God didn’t stop there. He gave him a mark, so that no harm would come to him. He could have stopped at justice, but he added grace.

I have spent the last two weeks wrestling with the question: What would it look like for me to allow others to live with a “mark of grace,” in my life? What would it mean for me to live as one who gives justice and mercy?

As a parent, I get to consider this question every day. I think most parents are good at consequences. There have been a couple of incidents in recent days that made me totally infuriated with my children. They all deserved justice. In each case, I had to think of a consequence. “You can’t play on your tablet.” “You need to go in time-out.” “You don’t get to have that treat.” Justice – consequences for hurtful actions.

But then the questions come: “But what of grace Leanne? What of healing?”

Ah, that one is harder.

How will I also, after the discipline, help them to heal? How will I show them the mercy that they will not always walk around as ones who have committed wrong, but as ones who are
forgiven and loved and healed?

And how will I do that for others in my life?

Because if there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain it is this: in cases of deep hurt, loss or pain, no amount of justice makes everything better. I say this as a woman who has spent the last ten years listening to people waiting for justice to heal their relationships. Spouses who tell the same story again and again of the incident that hurt them, because they don’t think the other person “gets it” yet. Hurting people waiting for the friend who hurt them to finally “hurt like I hurt.” Victims waiting for justice for those who harmed them. All people who think that justice will make everything feel better. And I get it. It hurts to feel like someone has been consequence-free when they have caused you pain. People do need to understand the hurt they caused and look for ways to make things better.

And…

On its own, justice will never be enough.

Because no one can ever truly undo what they have already done. No amount of “equal hurt” can negate the hurt you have already felt. Justice will only go so far. Justice may give us satisfaction, but healing comes with justice and mercy. It comes when we say “I give you grace, that you can walk among us.”

We don’t know too much of the rest of Cain’s story. We know he had children, and his life continued. We know he didn’t die. We don’t know if he was grateful for the mark of grace he carried.

And we don’t know what the mark looked like. What mark would he have to carry so that people knew not to kill him, that he had God’s divine protection? Once again I have no idea.

I do know what marks of grace have looked like in my life:

“You’re forgiven.”

“I accept your apology”

“I still love you.”

“Of course we’re still friends!”

“It’s okay, Mommy.”

You can’t see them? Look closer….I walk around with them every day.

At the church where I pastor, we are currently learning from the first book of the Bible – the book of Genesis. This is the book with all those fun stories, like how God created the world, and how people brought sin into the world by eating forbidden fruit and how Noah got drunk and passed out naked one night (look it up – it’s in there).

This week I preached on the story traditionally called “the fall.” In this account, it says that God created people and placed them in a beautiful garden. In this garden, He placed two trees: the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. He told them not to eat from the second tree. One day a snake says to the woman, Eve,that they should totally eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. He tells her that they will be like God if they do. The man and woman decide this is a good idea, eat from the tree, and then become ashamed as they realize they are naked. They hide from God, who (of course, what with being God), finds them and discovers they have done what they were told not to do. They are banished from the garden, and alienated from God. The world has changed.

I am not actually writing a blog post about that story. I am writing about QUESTIONS. Because a funny thing happened when I was preaching this story. After reading the Scripture passage, I asked anyone who had any “questions, confusions or uncertainty” about ANYTHING they had just heard to raise their hands. About 20 people raised their hands.

At this point I resisted the urge to declare: “You bunch of fibbers!!”

I found it very hard to believe that the other 100 people in the room had absolutely no questions, confusions or uncertainty about that passage. No questions about why God did things this way? No uncertainty about this perfect garden and people being given the boot? No confusion about why a snake TALKS?

I laughed and said: “Really? I’m gonna try that again…Raise your hand if you have ANY questions, confusions or uncertainty about this passage.” Slowly, some more people raised their hands, a midst some nervous giggles. I admit I was surprised at the hesitancy. I thought people would be eager to name the struggles they have with a text like this, and to see they are not alone.

I think there are a couple of main reasons that I didn’t get the response I anticipated (outside of the general “I don’t like raising my hand,” “I wasn’t paying attention,” “I was afraid she was going to throw water at me or something”), each of which addresses something important:

1. People didn’t want to admit they had questions

Some might have wondered: “What if raising my hand makes me look dumb?” “What if people think I’m a bad Christian?”

I think this stems from the unfortunate thing many of us came to believe that asking questions in church was bad. “You should believe!” “Just have faith!” “We’ll understand when we get to Heaven!” GOOD Christians don’t ask questions – isn’t that like doubting God?

Many years ago I was part of a study with a group of people, including a woman who was by then in her late sixties. We met for many weeks and she spoke very little. Slowly, the group began to be more vulnerable with each other. One night, out of nowhere, she suddenly said: “I have a question I’ve been wondering about for fifty years and I never thought I could say it out loud: Why doesn’t God always answer our prayers?” And she let out a huge sigh, like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

I was dumbfounded. Not by her question – but by the fact that she had wrestled with this for fifty years and did not feel like it was safe to ask. The question she shared I would argue is something that almost every Christian has wondered, but instead of talking about it with others, she kept it in until it literally burst out one night. I think that is so sad. I think it’s sad that she felt like she couldn’t ask a hard question.

If you are like her, I want to say: Questions are not bad. I have a ton of questions about the Bible. I think I have even more, not less, the more I read it. I think questions are wonderful. Questions make us dig in, they make us wrestle, they make us work – and we all know that when we work out, we get stronger. It doesn’t mean that questions won’t be hard sometimes, or that they won’t make make us struggle. It doesn’t mean we’ll always have easy answers, but we should never be afraid to have questions, or to admit we have questions, to raise our hands high in church and say “Why DOES the snake talk?” if we are given the opportunity.

2. People really believed they didn’t have questions

I think this is troublesome for a different reason. Obviously, I know that there are many who have studied this passage and come to peace with it. When they say they don’t have questions, they may mean that they are comfortable with what they believe. However, I also know that as readers of Scripture we can get comfortable. We can wiz along and read things without stopping to really let them seep in. I know this is true because if we really let a lot of these passages go deep– there is no way we wouldn’t have questions. Here are a just a few of my questions from this passage, for example: Where is the Garden of Eden? Why can’t we find it? Why did God create something if He didn’t want people to use it? Was He just tempting us for fun? (seems kind of mean, no?) If we found the tree of life today, and ate from it, would we be immortal? Why did God have to look for them, and why did he ask them what happened (wouldn’t He already know?)? And, have I mentioned: Why does a SNAKE talk?

I could go on.

I think if we read texts like this and confidently say “I don’t have any questions or confusions or uncertainties,” we have become too comfortable. We have become comfortable in what we already think we know and overly certain in our understanding – and that doesn’t leave a lot of space for God to shake us up if He needs to.

Here at Mount Hamilton we’re going to keep studying in the book of Genesis. As we keep going, we’re going to hit a lot of stories that are going to seem weird…or unlikely…or unfair. I want us say as we continue studying: we don’t need to be scared of questions. I am not scared of your questions and I believe God isn’t either. Ask. Question. Learn.

If you are not from Mount Hamilton, I also hope you’ll know this to be true. Maybe the Bible is new or new again to you. If it is, there is no way it’s NOT going to be confusing sometimes, I promise. Don’t let the questions stump you – let them spur you. Ask. Question. Learn.

I grew up going to church every Sunday morning, and, when I got to a certain age, every Sunday night. In my tradition, one of the elements of the Sunday night service was the “Testimony Time.”  This was a time when people could get up and say how they had become a Christian or what God was doing in their life.  There would be a leader who would lead us in a chorus to sing, and then we would pause and wait.  Whoever felt like it would get up and share.  Then we’d sing another chorus and do the whole thing again.  This would go on for half an hour or so, depending on how many people wanted to share. This tradition still continues in my church at home, though I’ve not been a part of it for many years.

Now, full confession: I did not always love the Testimony Time.  Sometimes there would be a long pause after a chorus as we waited for someone to stand and you could almost hear the tumbleweed roll by. Awkward!  We weren’t a big church, so we heard from the same people every week.  Sometimes it was boring. After all, I had already been in church for about 4 hours that day by the time testimony time started, and hearing the same people talk again and again could grow tedious on my antsy teenage heart.

There was one testimony in particular that we heard EVERY SINGLE WEEK. The woman who shared it was named Cavell Pretty.  Early in the sharing time she would stand and recite the words of a chorus:

When I think of the goodness of Jesus, and all He has done for me,

My soul cries out “Hallelujah!” Praise God for saving me.

Then she would say:

Yes, my dear people, for the wonderful time came in my life when I knelt at the feet of Jesus. And each day since I’ve found joy and peace in carrying my cross. And I’m meant by His grace to see the wonderful end of a Christian journey.  If there is anyone here tonight who is looking for something to satisfy, I say “seek Jesus” and you won’t be sorry.

Every week.

Word for word.

20 years later, I wrote those words from memory without even a pause, because for 10 years of my life I heard those words said every single Sunday night. I know them like I know the Lord’s Prayer and Jesus Loves Me.

Sometimes I would find myself mouthing the words along with her, and I’d look around and other would be doing the same.  Sometimes I’d tune out.  I’m sure others would as well.  She’d finish and a few people would mutter “Amen” or “Bless you Cavell,” and she’d sit down until the next week when the Testimony leader would ask: “Does anyone have a word of testimony tonight?” and she’d almost always be the first to stand.

Last night, my mother told me that Cavell died at the age of 93.  I usually get the list of people who have passed away away from my small town when we talk, and sometimes I admit I’m not always sure who my mom is talking about.  I knew this time, and I was sad.  Then this morning I came on Facebook, and there was a message thread – it was between about a dozen of the people who grew up in that church the same time as me.  You know what it was about? Cavell. The first person started “Our favourite lady of testimonies has made it to the promised land.”  Then person after person chimed in, sharing words they remembered from her testimony.   We live all over the world now.  Some of us are in ministry. Some of us don’t go to church anymore.  But we all remembered Cavell, and her testimony.

I can’t tell you about a single sermon I heard in that church growing up, though many were wonderful. I don’t’ remember most of the Bible studies.  But I know the story of a woman named Cavell Pretty.  Each week she told her story, and twenty years later, we all remember. 20 years later when my mom said “Cavell died,” my first thought was: “She reached the wonderful end of her Christian journey.”

I didn’t always appreciate it at the time, but thanks for telling us about the journey, Cavell. Thanks for telling us over and over.

By Leanne 

Tomorrow I turn 37. I am not feeling happy about it. Aren’t I too young to be turning 37?  Didn’t I just turn 30?  Wasn’t I old then?  Will I really be planning for my 40^th in three short years?  Truth be told, I’m still not over having to check the “35-50” age category when I fill out forms.  I just find that a bit much, form makers.  Would you make a category 20-35?  Or 0-15? I think not.  When did I get to an age where I start to get lumped in 15 year chunks?  It’s all a bit overwhelming.

What really bothers me, though, is that it bothers me.  It also bothers me that getting grey hair bothers me.  My husband likes to quote Proverbs at me: “Grey hair is a crown of glory.”  And he means it. I’d like to mean it, too. I would like to face aging accepting what I know to be true – that with age comes wisdom,  that I’m at a joyful phase of life, that I wouldn’t change anything about where I have landed or where I am right now.  The funny thing is that if someone were to tell me that I could jump back right now to being 15 or 22 or 27 I would think: “Kill me now.”  And yet, I see that number:

37.

And it annoys me.

And I see those grey hairs.

And they annoy me.

It doesn’t make any sense!!  I can honestly say that I think everything about this age is fantastic: I know that living more has made me a better person, pastor and preacher, and I realize that will be true as I gather more years.  27 year old me didn’t have a clue what I was talking about most of the time, and at 47 I’ll probably feel that way about 37 year old me – which is pretty cool.  At 37, I am confident in my own skin.  I have settled into the person that I am meant to be, even as I recognize that it will keep changing.  36 was a good year for me.  I don’t have regrets or a sense that I have wasted any of my (almost) 37 years.

Why does it bother me?

The simple answer is because our culture tells us getting older is bad, and I have believed the lies. We idolize youth.  We idealize our younger days.  People say things like “Your high school (or college or university) years are the best years of your life!”  And I know that when I post this there will be no end to the comments that say: “You’re not old!”  Because when someone feels old, we should make them feel better by telling them they are not.  Because we believe that getting older is bad, so telling people they aren’t is a compliment.  How bizarre.

But here’s the thing: I know 37 is not that old – of course it isn’t.  I know that to many of you I am young And I know that to lots of you I am older than you can ever imagine being.  That’s just how it is.  So what do I want to do for my 37^th birthday?

I want it to not annoy me.  I don’t want to accept the lies that there is something wrong with getting older.  I don’t want to convince myself I’m younger. I don’t want flattery that I’m not “that old” or assurance that I’m “still young.”  I want to embrace the joys that come with getting older and the wisdom and the confidence and the happiness that comes with it.   Maybe I’ll even embrace the grey hairs….(one step at a time, people!).

I want to celebrate 37 – and, soon enough, 40 – and 50 and 60.  My sister Roxanne used to say, when people complained about turning 40 or 50 or 60.  “You know what’s worse than turning 50?”  – “Not turning 50.”

Well, ain’t that the truth.

God has given me 37 years.  There have been many beautiful things in those 37 years, and some ugly.  I don’t know what 37 holds, but I’ve lived long enough now to know that I can expect that in the years to come as well:  much beautiful, some ugly – though much of it will depend on how I see it.

Brown hair and grey hair.  Smooth skin and wrinkles. God, give me grace to see the beautiful.

37. Thirty-seven. 3 -7. THIRSTY-SEVEN. 37. Thirty-Seven. 37. 37.

I think it might be beautiful.

(One last shot of me at 36, ironically attempting to show off my grey hairs, but finding the lighting not effective to show their true glory.  Trust me, in the sun, they shine. Sidenote: On grey vs. gray.  I looked up which way to spell it.  Turns out both are right. Gray is American spelling and Grey is UK spelling.  Being Canadian I went with grey.  Look at how much I’m still learning as I turn 37! How exciting!)

I’m big on resolutions.

I know some people don’t like them at all, and I’m not saying they’re for everyone, but I like me a new year when I can pause and say: “Here’s to a new shot!”  and then I like making a list of things that I want to work on.  I know that not everybody feels this way about resolutions, because every new year when I gather with friends and say “Sooo….what are everybody’s resolutions?”  they all start to groan.  Perhaps you are groaning as well.

Earlier this week I decided to look in my journal for my resolutions from last year. They were:

1. Eat less meat.

(Total fail on that one – but I will not give up! This year I will not just check vegetarian cook books out of the library but USE THEM!)

2. Drink less calories.

(She types as she sips her Pepsi….)

3. Start a blog.

Well, if I do say so myself, one out of three ain’t bad.

I was hesitant to start a blog, for a lot of reasons.  The main one was that I felt like I didn’t really have much to say.  Now, for any of you who know me, of course I always have LOTS to say…but I felt like I didn’t have anything SPECIFIC to say, no particular message that I had to bring to the world.  The blog actually started as a means of follow up from sermons.  I realized that a lot of people from our church often couldn’t make it on a Sunday, and the blog would be a way to help keep people from Mount Hamilton connected.   But it’s turned into more than that, which has been quite a surprise to me. As I look back on this year of resolutions, and blogging, here are a few of things that I learned/surprised me/delighted me about this blogging journey:

1. Non-MHBC Readers. I was shocked when people outside of the church started reading it. I thought it would mostly be MHBC folks wandering in, and I’m still surprised when friends from high school or neighbours or friends of friends tell me they read it.  I am also shocked that I have a regular reader from somewhere in Brazil (Hello!). Now, don’t get me wrong, this blog does not have some huge following. Rachel Held-Evans I am not. Still, I’m honoured.  I’m touched every time somebody tells me they took the time to read, or likes or shares on Facebook or comments.  This brings me, however, to lesson/thought/surprise number two…
2. You can’t pick your audience. Sometimes people tell me they read a blog, and I’m like “Yelp! I never pictured YOU reading it!”…and then I try to think of anything I might have said that might freak them out or that they would disagree with or that would make me seem like one of those “crazy pastors” they would want to avoid.  This was actually the other big reason I wasn’t sure I wanted to blog: I didn’t know if I could handle the criticism, potential controversy, or judgement that could come with it. I had to learn about halfway through this year to just let God do what God was doing.  I would write what I felt like I should write and then I had to (homage to popular 2014 song…) “Let it go…let it go….” and set the blog free to the universe.  Yes, some people wouldn’t like it. Yes, some people wouldn’t like me.   Yes, some people would maybe think that I was trying too hard.  But it is what it is.  And, mostly, it has been so cool. The really fun thing about not picking your audience?  When someone totally unexpected says: “I really appreciated what you said on your blog about….grieving…hope…God…”  And it’s about something that I never would have talked to that person about otherwise.  I thought God was going to help with sermon follow-up, but He had a totally different thing in mind.  It has been a shocking/slightly scary/delightful surprise.
3. The blogs people read. Over the year I have developed a bit of a knack for predicting what blogs will be most popular. The most popular posts by far are the ones where I am the most vulnerable, honest, and real, or where I write about a controversial or emotional topic.  For example, one of my lowest posts was “Twelve Thoughts on Twelve Disciples.”  I knew it would be when I posted it.  My three highest? By far?  “Thoughts on a One Year Anniversary,” “My Rant About Dying With Dignity,” and “What Grief is Like.”  Perhaps you sense a theme.

So the thing is it would be easy for me to get sucked in, to seek the likes and the hits and the jump in the statistics section.  I know how to do it.  I know there are topics that make people more eager to read.  But the thing is, some of my  favourite posts are ones with the least number of views.  When I write something, I want it to be because it’s something I’m feeling, and sensing is worth sharing – and not just because I want a higher viewer count.  It’s tempting to get sucked into the desire to make the blog popular.  God has used this blog to teach me that, like with all things, I am just called to be faithful.  Not flashy. Not exciting. Just faithful.  As I go into 2015, and a second year of blogging, I resolve to do the same:  write because it’s on my heart, share because it means something to me, be open and honest so we can learn together, pause from writing when my life feels too busy, let it be what it is:  another way to share where I see God and journey with a whole lot of cool people together.

My other resolution for this year? Work on my posture.  I know, it’s not that exciting, but it’s actually a big deal for me.  For any of you who have wondered, yes, I am aware that I slouch.  I don’t know why, and I don’t know when it started, but it actually takes a pretty conscious effort on my part NOT to slouch.  Basically, I have realized that when it feels, to me, like I’m walking around doing a back-bridge, or as if I’m prepubescent trying to stick my chest out as far as I can, that it actually looks normal.   It’s hard to get my brain around, but it’s true. So here’s to a year where I straighten my shoulders, and (I type with great vulnerability, because I’m actually really self-conscious about it, and if people point it out to me then I can’t pretend that people don’t notice…) welcome you to remind me to do so, too.

Happy New Year, Friends.  Thanks for helping make at least one of my 2013 resolutions happen!

This, the third week of Advent, is the week when we remember the joy that we experience because of the hope of Christ. I often approach Joy week with some trepidation. Don’t get me wrong – I love joy, and I sure do want more of it – but I’m aware that for so many “finding Christmas joy” is not as simple as being told to do it. Joy can be complicated, and sometimes even more complicated at Christmas.

I remember the first Christmas that I had a stunning realization: not everyone loved Christmas! It was the first Christmas when we would be away from family and every reminder of Christmas made me homesick. I had never experienced this before – this Christmas grouchiness – and no matter how desperately I tried to feel joy there were days when I just couldn’t do it. Then I realized that there were many people who felt this way every Christmas. They did not count down to Advent gleefully anticipating Christmas day. They were counting down until Christmas was finally over. They did not head to the mall or downtown just so they could see the Christmas decorations – they avoided both so they wouldn’t have to see them. When Christmas music came on the radio, they changed the station.

My years as a pastor have led me to believe in the following statistic (created entirely by me, but totally legit, I believe): For all the people that celebrate Christmas, 1/3 LOVE it (in the way I always have), 1/3 are ambivalent (they don’t hate Christmas, they don’t love Christmas – they’re just kind of “whatever”), and 1/3 are just trying to get through and eager for it to be finished.

There are a lot of good reasons for people to fall in that last category. Maybe Christmas for them holds bad memories; it triggers memories of painful childhoods and Christmases of disappointment. Maybe they have lost someone and Christmas is a hard reminder of their grief. Maybe they don’t have the big family with which to celebrate and when everyone else is going on and on about “all the parties” they have to go to, and how hard it is “to fit everyone in” they feel lonely. Maybe Christmas is wrought with stress about finances, family drama, unrealistic expectations. There are many reasons for it, but I assure you: someone you know finds it hard to find joy at Christmas. You may be that someone.

When I get to Joy Sunday and I have to stand in front of people I love and talk to them about it, I do so with pause. I picture the faces that will look back at me, and know there will be those carrying great pain, those for whom Christmas joy is hard to muster. What do I say of joy to my church, considering what I believe about my 1/3 rule? Let me try to express some thoughts here.

To those of you who are full of joy at Christmas – who love it all, who are counting down, who are excited and eager and singing about “the most wonderful time of the year,” I say: remember those for whom Christmas feels different. Don’t talk to them about “finding Christmas Spirit” or “putting on a happy face.” Be willing to be in the hard places with people if they need it, and be gentle with those that are struggling as you talk about your own joys. If you are a new mom talking to a woman struggling with infertility, recognize that it may be hard for her to hear all your “baby’s first Christmas excitement.” If someone is facing their first Christmas without their loved ones, don’t send the “Hope this is your best Christmas Ever!” card. It won’t be. Instead of a quick “Merry Christmas!” say: “I am praying for you this Christmas.” Teach your kids not to flaunt expensive Christmas gifts when they go back to school, for the sake of the kids whose families couldn’t provide the same things you may have been able to. Think about where someone may be before you talk about the season, and let it be what it is for them.

And to you, for whom joy is hard this Christmas – and, perhaps, always? – I say this: Hold on to the hope that there can be joy for you. The angel said to the shepherds: “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people,” and I believe they meant it.

Your joy may not be in having the perfect Christmas-card Christmas. It may not be in having loved ones around you. It may not be in giving or getting the perfect gift. It may not even be in having a “good Christmas.”

I don’t know where or when or how joy may come for you, but hold on to the promise: Christ is the good news of great joy for all people. And all people does indeed include you.

Let me say to you what I say to many that I know are facing a hard Christmas: “I know this Christmas may not be merry – but may God give you merry moments.” May there be moments of joy.

And may they be enough.

Recognizing that Christmas is hard for some, our church, Mount Hamilton Baptist (626 Upper Wentworth, Hamilton), offers a “Quiet Christmas” service at 3 p.m. on Christmas Eve. This is a service for those who would like to remember Christmas in a contemplative way. There will be also be a time to acknowledge struggles and the loss of loved ones for those that need to do that.