Leanne Friesen

Yesterday, I had a baby.

Well, it feels like yesterday. It’s actually been four years, 2 months and 3 days since I had my last baby (but who’s counting?…) and in SEVEN days my “baby” will go to kindergarten (I am definitely counting). It seems impossible to believe. My baby is no longer a baby…no longer a toddler…no longer a preschooler. Soon she will be full-fledged “school-aged.” She will be in kindergarten. She’ll move to the big gym in Sunday School. She won’t come to Mommy Group with me – instead I will go ALONE, because I WON’T HAVE A PRESCHOOLER!

When I’m honest with myself I know that her going to school is a great thing. She is definitely ready to learn and to be kept busy. It will be so much easier and cheaper for us in terms of childcare. Dallas and I will take our day off on the same day. There is much for which to be thankful – not everyone gets to see their children reach Kindergarten age and not every Mama in the world has a great school for her child to attend. I am grateful. And I am also stunned.

Stunned that it went so fast. Here’s the thing when you have a baby: Everyone who has had one before – from the age of 19-90 – tells you how fast it will go. They tell you to savor the moments and to enjoy it because it will be over before you know it. And it’s not that you don’t believe them when they tell you – you just can’t really imagine it in that moment when you feel like you will never sleep again and most days at home with your baby seem to trudge instead of fly by. But then your baby is four and you hear yourself telling all the other mothers the same thing. You hear yourself looking at a baby item your friend is holding and saying “Gee, I wish they had that when I had my kids!” and you find yourself saying “I can’t remember!” when people ask you those things you thought you’d never forget such as when did they first eat green beans or what did they weight at their eight month check-up. Yesterday I was asked when my son started walking and I had to look it up. Those of you with infants are horrified – those of you with grown children are impressed I knew where I wrote it down.

There is nothing quite like September to remind you that sometimes life can feel like one big blink – you open your eyes and it seems like in the second they were shut your kids grew three inches, your hair is going grey or it’s already your eleventh wedding anniversary (by the way, Happy Anniversary tomorrow, Dallas! It seems like it was just yesterday that we ended up in the same campus tour group at McMaster…I could do this all day). I admit that I am one who tends to lament the passing of life. I put away baby clothes with tears in my eyes and look at old photos with longing and nostalgia. But when I’m prayerful and thoughtful and listen to what God is saying in my lament-ful moments, I hear a voice echoing a similar refrain as the mothers who were so eager to help me appreciate my newborns – “This is the moment to which I have called you. This is where I am.”

It’s not really about savoring the moment because I will lament its passing later. It’s about recognizing that God has led me and Lucy and Dallas and Josiah and all of us to the moment that we are in right now and if I am not careful – I might miss Him.

While I am sad that my baby is growing up, I will choose to also be excited. I am excited because of how I will see God in this next phase, in these new things. I know I’ll get to spend a lot of time with God because of this, as I am certain that me and God are going to be talking a lot this year about my little girl. (I suspect Lucy’s teacher may also find herself having some chats with Big Guy on Lucy’s behalf…Bless her teacher, Jesus. Amen. ).

If you are reading this today and you are facing a season of change – of growing kids or new jobs or retirement or moving or going back to school – I know that it’s hard not to be sad about the things that are over. I know the summer was too short and the vacation went too quickly and life goes by too fast. But even as we miss the way things were, I pray we can find joy in knowing that God is always doing a new thing. We can see Him in every new school, new season, new relationship, and new September.

This year, I get to see Him in Kindergarten.

Don’t be alarmed if this blog is a little quiet over the next month. This time next week we will be on our summer holidays, heading back to the Rock for a little rest and relaxation. And fishing. In the totality of my life working fulltime, I don’t think I’ve ever been more eager for some down time. The truth is I am very tired as I get to this summer, and it is entirely my own fault. I feel like I learned a lot about rest this year and as I go into a summer more tired than I should be I’d like to share with you what God has shown me about our need to rest:

1. Grief is tiring
I was grieving this year, and I often did not allow myself the rest to grieve. Grief is tiring. That’s all there is to it. If you are entering a season of grief, would you be easy on yourself? Expect to do a little less than you used to and don’t feel bad about it. Your emotions and your body are dealing with more than they usually do. And you know? Being busy may seem like a great way to distract yourself – but it doesn’t work. In the end, the grief still comes and you are so tired and overwhelmed that it only hits all the harder.

2. Time away from work does not mean you have rested
We are really blessed that our church gives us five weeks vacation, and I was especially grateful last year that on top of that my church gave me three weeks compassionate leave when my sister died. I can never say enough how thankful I am. However, this also meant that I spent all of last year saying “I shouldn’t be tired! I had eight weeks off last year!” But I didn’t have eight weeks of rest. I had two weeks of sitting with my sister in her house during her final days, three weeks of journeying through her death, her funeral and the days that followed, and then two weeks of being in the hospital when my nephews and my father had an accident. (Dallas and I are grateful that we had a few days in November that were truly refreshing). I’m not saying I should have had more time off from work than this. I am saying that I needed to be easier on myself and remember that those times away from my paid job were still a lot of work and not take too much on my plate once I returned.

I know a lot of you are in the same boat. Your “vacations” are spent getting your house ready to sell or caring for aging parents or looking after needs of your struggling children. When you get back to “work,” be kind to yourself and remember that your mind may tell you you’ve had a vacation – but your body probably knows when that is not really true.

3. Be willing to say “no” to good things
This year I was offered some really amazing opportunities to be involved in ministries and my community. Each of these were things that I really wanted to do and that were important to me. But I said “yes” to too many things in a season when I needed to say “no.” (See above statements). I started new ministries at church. I supervised a student. I was part of a Journey Group. I helped facilitate a group at our Seminary. I sat on a committee that would make recommendations regarding school closures in my community. I spoke at a number of events. They were all great experiences – but there were too many. And I was tired.

So this year I have committed to do things differently. Here it is, and perhaps you can benefit from these lessons, too:

1. Be intentional about rest.
On my days off I will turn off my computer and refrain from checking my phone. I will do things that renew my Spirit, and remember God is in control so I don’t have to worry the world is going to fall apart while I chill out a bit.

2. Say “no” more.
I apologize already for any of you that I may offend when I say no to your great opportunity. Just remember: It’s not you – it’s me.

3. Be strategic about what’s most important

This doesn’t mean that I don’t want to still do things (Please don’t stop asking!). I just need to think strategically about what matters most to me and where I feel God wants me. I have already made some changes going into this fall. I decided I could do ONE thing for my Seminary, so I am facilitating a group, but not a student, for this year. I picked the group because it really teaches me a lot and I truly enjoy it. I will continue to be involved in my son’s Parent Council at school – I love being involved in his school – but I will focus on those things that are best for my gift set. (And I will never ever ever ever sit on an Accommodation Review Committee again!). I am spending this summer setting my goals for the new year, so that I can be sure I get to spend time on the things at our church that are really most important. And I will pray and give myself 24 hours (at least!) before I say yes to anything I am asked to join, lead, facilitate or speak at. (Yes, I should have learned this one already by now).

4. I will be guilt free about the following…
Eating out or ordering in when I need a break from cooking.
Not having my house look immaculate when people come over (though those of you that come over have probably noticed that I’m already pretty good at this one).
Saying “Can we meet at your house or go out?” instead of “I’ll host!” when I need to.
Not checking my phone after a certain hour.
Going to bed at 9:00 and watching Netflix.
Not updating our blog for a month while I’m on vacation.

See you in a few weeks friends!
I wish you a summer with rest.

This week a dear woman from our church died after a short and sudden illness, and we all feel her loss. Muriel Wolanski was always helping others.  She was the first to bring a meal after a baby was born and the first to visit in the hospital after a surgery.  She sent a card when someone was grieving and phoned when someone needed encouragement.  Besides that, she was a ton of fun.  She did a good job of keeping her age hidden – not because she didn’t like saying it, but because she was so busy and energetic that most people assumed she was much younger.  Several people at her funeral today were shocked to learn that she was 76 years old.  Still, we were not at all ready to lose her. Today, I’d like to share my lessons learned from Muriel.

1. Don’t wait to be asked

What made Muriel extra special was that she never had to be asked to help someone.  If someone was sick, she just called.  If someone was struggling she just brought over a meal.  She didn’t wait for the person to let her know “if they needed anything.”  She just saw a need and did it.  Sometimes I’m afraid of overstepping, or I don’t want to do something that may not be needed.  You know what Muriel taught me? Kindness never oversteps.  If they don’t want the meal, they’ll just freeze it for later.  But the love will always be appreciated.  Thanks for teaching me that, Muriel.

2. Remember the forgotten

There is one group of people that gets most overlooked when it comes to care: people with chronic illness.  These are the people who have things like Crohn’s disease or Multiple Sclerosis or depression. When people have a surgery or loss or an illness that may be cured, we can all be good at stepping in to help.  But people get tired of caring for the people who never get better.  It can be discouraging to always hear “not great” when you ask “how are you?”  It can be hard to feel helpless when someone’s journey of illness is ongoing.  But Muriel never forgot them.  Muriel reminded me to not forget people who are always sick, but aren’t always supported. Thanks for teaching me that, Muriel.

3. We never retire from our true vocation

Muriel was a devoted nurse for many years, and when she retired it was like she just saw that as giving her more time to live out her calling.  Until the final days of her life, Muriel visited sick people and advocated for them in hospital. She stayed with friends recovering from surgeries and she served as an “on-call’ nurse for anyone in her life that needed one.  She never stopped nursing.  It was what God had called her to do and she kept doing it.  And God used her.  Thanks for teaching me that we always have a call to live into, Muriel.

4. it’s never too late

Last year, at the age of 75, Muriel got her Bachelor of Arts degree.  Three years ago, Muriel went on a mission trip to Kenya.  HOW COOL WAS SHE???  Muriel taught me that it’s never too late in life to try something new, to take on a challenge or to live a dream.  Sometimes, as I get further into my fourth decade of life, I find myself thinking “Oh it’s too late” for something I wanted to try or hoped to do. Thanks for teaching me that’s a pack of nonsense, Muriel.  If you can get a degree at 75, I can surely take up pottery if I feel like it.

5. When you get a chance, DANCE.

So, Muriel was hilarious.

This fall we went on a women’s retreat with ladies from our church.  They asked for volunteers to join in a dance contest.  Now, I’m pretty outgoing, but that kind of thing could make me flat out faint on the spot.  While I was cowering and making sure my hand stayed as low as possible, Muriel was up and dancing on that stage before I could even say “no thank-you” – and she danced to win.

This week, you know one of the first things people said about her as we reminisced? “I’ll never forget her dancing at Elim.”  What an amazing memory she gave us, and I am so thankful for that moment that I will always carry in my heart. Thanks for dancing, Muriel. Thanks for giving us that special memory.

Muriel – there is so much for which I am thankful.

Thanks for teaching me to dance.

Thanks for teaching me to learn.

Thanks for teaching me to give.

Thanks for teaching me to love.

Thanks – for teaching me how to live.

How about you?  If you knew Muriel, what did you learn from her life?  Or the life of someone else that modeled important things to you?…I’d love to hear your thoughts! 

 

Yesterday was my daughter Lucy’s fourth birthday.  We had actually celebrated on Friday and as four year olds find these things a little confusing we didn’t make much of a fuss yesterday.  However, we did get the influx of phone calls. With family all over the country, each time we heard the familiar long distance ring we got Lucy to answer the phone.  Each time someone said “Happy Birthday” she would respond with “Happy Birthday!”

She’s still figuring out how this birthday thing works.

Of course, there was one phone call missing: the phone call from my sister Roxanne, after whom Lucy is named.  Two of Lucy’s birthdays have passed now without hearing “Happy Birthday” from Aunt Roxanne and the phone call’s absence is as palpable as ever.

I was actually doing pretty good all day.  I was happy to hear from our loved ones. I had a normal day of work, play, supper and a meeting for me in the evening at my house.  I didn’t think about the missing phone call much at all, and when I did, I was okay. Then it changed, in a blink.  After everyone had left my meeting, Dallas told me: “Your sister called.” And I said:

“Deanne?”

With a question mark.

As if there was another option. When there was no other option.I only have one sister now.

I stopped, stunned.  I had totally forgotten in that moment that Roxanne couldn’t phone, that she would never phone again on Lucy’s birthday.  I had forgotten, briefly, that she was dead.  I had returned to a world with two sisters, a world where I could still pick up the phone and hear Roxanne’s voice on the other line.  And, then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me all again.  Grief came over me like a giant wave and I was swallowed whole.  After a day where I had been perfectly fine, I couldn’t stop crying.

That is what grief is like.

It’s hard to explain grief to someone who hasn’t been through it.  It’s hard to explain how you can have moments where life is totally normal and you feel like you are doing great, and then, in a second, have that turn around as the grief monster rears its ugly head.  One author calls these “grief bursts.”  They are those moments just like I described – where one small comment, or smell, or memory triggers a sudden onslaught of emotion.  They can happen anytime – in a grocery store when you catch a glimpse of your loved one’s favourite food, in church when you sing a certain song, on your child’s fourth birthday when you don’t get a phone call.  And they can happen months, years, decades after a loss.  Someone special to me told me that she was once in a bank when she saw the teller’s name tag, bearing the same name of the one she’d lost over 20 years ago.  She had a grief burst, right there in the bank.

That’s what grief is like.

Let me tell you – grief bursts STINK.  But I’ve learned to embrace them as part of my new normal.  I’ve given up trying to figure out when they will come or trying to somehow stop them.  I can’t.  The good news is, a year later, they are far less frequent than they were last year this time.  For that I am thankful.  Still, I know that 20 years from now I may be in a bank and see the name “Roxanne” on a name tag and have a “grief burst” again. Because that’s what grief is like.

Why do I share this today? I guess I see how much we need to help each other understand grief.  I hope those grieving who read this can be encouraged to see how normal those moments that seem “crazy” actually are.  Friend, there is no such thing as a “crazy” response to grief.  Your response just is.  That is all.  If you cry in a bank or a grocery store or at a birthday party, it just is what it is.  And remember that the blessing of the “burst” is that it is just that: A burst.  It bursts – and then it passes. It may take a few minutes, a few hours, a few days.  But, you ride it out, and let it be, and remember it won’t last forever. You’ll have them again – that is for certain – but they will not define your life. I promise.

I also hope to help those who have not yet been on the journey understand what it’s like for those who have had a deep loss.  Don’t be surprised by the appearance of grief long after you thought someone was “better.”  Don’t judge.  Don’t worry.  It’s not “regressing” or “going backwards” or “not being over it.”  It just is.  It’s just what grief is like.

This time, my grief burst lasted about an hour.  I cried it out, and went to sleep. I woke up a little puffy eyed, but content.  I’d ridden the wave and the waters are calm now.  I felt God’s comfort, and, eventually, His peace.

This morning I got big hugs from the wonderful Lucy Roxanne Friesen, now four years old. “I love you the girlie!” I told her. “I love you the Mommy!” she said.  She may be confused about “Happy Birthday,” but love she’s got down.  Just like her Aunt.

I recently came across this question that has messed with me every since:  What are you doing right now that requires faith? 

To expand on that, what are you pursuing in your life that you could not do without God’s help?  What are you trying that scares you – but is letting you learn to rely on God in your fear? I love this question.

And I hate this question.

I love it because it is important.  As a Pastor, I frequently hear from people I love things like: How can I grow closer to God? How can I grow in my faith? How can I hear from God?

They are all questions of faith, and they don’t have easy answers.  However, there is one thing that I do know: Faith is like a muscle – and it grows by exercise.

When I look back on my own journey, the times that my faith grew the most were the times that I actually had to use it.  One time was when I gave more money than (I felt) I could afford to help someone, and got to see God provide for me.  Another time was when I was thrown into doing a new ministry that terrified me – and it forced me to pray and lean on God a whole lot.  Another was leaving my life and family in Newfoundland behind and moving to Hamilton to go to Seminary because I was pretty sure God was telling me to go. Last summer I got to exercise a lot of faith as I prayed for my two nephews in their hospital beds after a serious accident.  I was pretty annoyed at God that our family was going through another painful journey as we had lost my sister just two months before, but I am thankful that my faith muscles were strong enough to help me say “God, I will keep trying to trust you.” Now I see that I could use those “faith muscles” because of all the times that I had used them at other hospital beds, other trials, other moments where faith was needed.  They’d had the opportunity to “exercise,” so that, when I needed them most, by God’s grace,my faith muscles were there.

What are you doing right now that requires faith? 

I hate that question because it challenges me.  I don’t know if I’m doing much of anything right now that I could say I wouldn’t be able to do without God.  Of course there are the obvious things like just getting out of bed each day, putting one foot in front of the other, and keeping two children alive – I know I need God for all these things – but I know I am generally pretty comfortable right now.   Comfort is nice, but seeing and knowing and feeling God work is even better.  I know it because I’ve seen it before.  So I’m asking myself that question, and praying for help to be uncomfortable so that I can go deeper.  It is, quite frankly, a little scary. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

What are you doing right now that requires faith?

Each of us will answer that differently.  For some of you, it will take great faith to trust God in the hard situation you are facing. For others it will take faith to give more of your resources.  For others it will take faith to get up in front of people and share that you have chosen to follow Christ as you are baptized (we’ve got four people doing that this Sunday – and they are using every faith muscle they’ve got to talk in front of you all.  I can hardly wait to see what’s next for them!!). Some will stretch by praying out loud – others may preach a sermon. As we know about all forms of exercise, muscles not previously used are easily stretched by what may seem to be small activities to an experienced athlete. Likewise, an athlete needs to be pushed to try harder things to enhance their strength. That’s why this question can be answered in so many different ways, depending on where you are on your journey.

What are you doing right now that requires faith? 

May this question  profoundly mess with you in all the right ways!

This Sunday is, for serious, my least favourite church service to plan each year.  I don’t know if other pastors feel the same, but let me tell you: Father’s Day is a tricky one.  Here is the tension:

1. Our men (and our dads) are awesome and I think it’s important to honour them, in the same way we honour our women (and moms) on Mother’s Day in May.

AND

2. It’s really hard to honour men and dads in a culture where talking about dads and men is often a trigger for a whole lot of hard feelings…

In our church, for example, a good hunk of our kids who come to Sunday School don’t come to church with their dads.  Their fathers may either be uninvolved, dead, attending another church (because of a divorce), or at home most Sundays.  This makes talking about dads awkward, and makes it challenging to have an activity for them to honour dads.  I think it’s often harder on the kids’ mothers or other guardians than the kids themselves. I have talked to more than one tearful mother on Father’s Day whose heart is broken because her child or children doesn’t have the relationship she wishes they could have with their father. It’s hard.

Then there are the people who are all grown up and who are still healing from broken relationships with the men in their lives.  For many in our church talking about God as a Loving Father seems like an oxymoron because the idea of “loving” and “father” just don’t go together.  Talking about and celebrating dads just seems like a kick in the teeth as they remember what they don’t have.  It’s less obvious in adulthood when someone doesn’t have a dad to run to and hand a root beer during church, but the pain is still there.

I know the easy out would be to do nothing. The reality is Father’s Day is not a religious holiday.  It is a relatively new invention of our culture, and the Church has absolutely no obligation to remember it.  God is still God with or without Father’s Day.

But, for me, ignoring it doesn’t feel quite right.  I think it doesn’t feel right for all the reasons I just mentioned that it’s hard. We actually need good dads, and when I see a dad working really hard to be a good one, especially when he often didn’t have a good example himself, I think it’s valuable for the church to say “We bless you in this.”   “We see you trying.”  “We are thankful.”

And so, this Sunday, we will give you a root beer.  (We also have another very special treat, but that will have to be a surprise!  Trust me – it’s good!).  We will wait until the kids are in Sunday School to give the treats out so that our kids whose dads aren’t there won’t feel an unnecessary sting.  We will do our best on a tricky day.  We will do it because, men, you matter, and when things matter you push through the trickiness.  You matter as boyfriends, husbands, friends, uncles, nephews, sons, grandsons, grandfathers, and dads.  But mostly you matter because you are children of God.   You matter because of who your Heavenly Father is.  Men, I wish I could take your hearts and write that truth on it so deep that you’d never forget it.  Since I can’t, I’ll give you a root beer, a prayer, and a blessing instead – and hope they go deep enough.

The truth is I can’t pretend that I get it.

When I came into work this morning I came into a (relatively) quiet office and waved at the kids from the daycare as I walked by.  I didn’t have to change their diapers or deal with their feelings or listen to their parents suggest, encourage, or complain.  My only co-worker today is my husband.  He has not asked about my faith.  He has not invited me to anything that would challenge my values. He is not hard to love.  I have spent the day reading God’s Word as I prepare a sermon and talking to His people as they have stopped in to talk or ask a question or get some support.  My work and my faith mingle at every turn.  They are one and the same and that is obvious to everyone.  The God thing is what I’m supposed to be doing, and so I do it. 

So I can’t pretend that I get what it’s like to work where you work.  I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like when your Christian values clash with the policies of the place where you work, and you are left with a dilemma.  I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like to be the only person of faith in your office or at your school or in your restaurant. I can’t pretend to feel a constant tug away from God as you try to hold on to what you learned yesterday in church, when it seemed so much easier.

I can’t pretend to get it, but I can tell you that I see you.

I see you trying, brothers and sisters, and I see that it can be hard.  I see that you are eager to take your faith out of the boxes and bring it right where you are, but it’s easier said than done.  I see that your co-workers can drain your energy and you get tired of having to be the nice one.  I see that you are ready to throw your hands up some days with policies that make your hands feel tied. I see that there are just days that you are tired with the work you are doing protecting children, teaching young people, counseling the hurting, healing the sick, balancing budgets, painting walls, rallying for justice, standing in the unemployment line – and wondering if it matters at all.  I hear you when you say that you long to really “work for God.” I see the struggle to see what you do as ministry.   

I see you, and I encourage you. 

Hang in there.  God is not far away; in fact, He is in all.  You are living in ministry.  You are part of The Story.  You are more than a lay person. You are a servant of God, and today God is ready to use you.

I anoint you and I send you in His name – into your cubicle, your office, your nursing home, your hospital, your neighbourhood, your school, your salon, your work site, your route, your child care centre, your gym, your studio, your laboratory, your store, your restaurant, your museum, your factory, your airport, your truck, your call centre, your bank, your home:  go, and be used to show God’s love, justice and hope to the place where you work.  You are already working for Him. You are in ministry.

You are a Kingdom Bearer.

“Living in a poor urban neighbourhood might bring certain dangers, but raising children in a suburban estate brings its own dangers. It’s just that we don’t rate being raised as a self-centred, egotistic consumer as all that dangerous.” (Michael Frost, “Incarnate: The Body of Christ in an Age of Disengagement”)

 This quote is from a book I just finished. It challenges us to think about what it means to live a faith that is “incarnate” – that is engaged, is present, and exists outside of just our own mind and our ideas.  Frost invites believers to remember that faith has hands and feed and skin and bones and that it should, always, be present. And he doesn’t mean “liking” or re-tweeting something on social media.  He means loving our neighbour/hood. 

 The title of the chapter with this particular quote is called “placed persons,” and let me tell you, I underlined that quote and put a big old star by it.  I also drew kind of a little box around it.  The truth of it hits me in the face as a parent, as a person, and a follower of Jesus.  It hits me as a “placed person,” which we, of course, all are.  

 As a parent how true it is that there is a deep desire to “protect” my child from danger.  We want to give them what we are told is “the good life.”  And so…

 “…We live in neighbourhoods that are simply unwalkable.  We allow builders to create houses with facades that look like fortresses, with all the family life tucked away in the rear and surrounded by walls so high that no one can see in. We live, glued to our screens, playing games, checking social media, interacting in the flattened, fragmented world of the Internet…” (page 151).

(And, no, the irony is not lost on me that I’m saying all this online).

And what do we lose?  In the big house, in the “nice” neighbourhood we can lose a lot.  We can lose community, connectedness, and compassion.  We don’t have to talk to people or know people so we don’t… But our house is really nice.

I know a lot of you are not in that situation, and some of you feel bad that you can’t provide your children – or even yourself- “more.”  May I suggest that maybe you’re not missing out?   That there are losses and gains in every environment and that for every house with a big yard there may be an empty front porch?

I’m not saying that every neighbourhood in the suburbs is without community, and I’m not saying that every urban neighbourhood is flourishing.  I’m simply suggesting that as followers of Christ and placed people, we consider and remember how our places can shape us.  We can remember how the choices we make about place, and how we will live in those places, can have a huge impact on more than our safety – they can go deeper to our values, our priorities and even our faith.

So, placed people, if you are reading this blog and you happen to like it or see some truth in it, I would love to hear a comment from you. But even more I’d love for you to put down your phone or step away from your computer and go sit on the front step of your house or walk down your street or linger longer in the foyer of your apartment building and put some skin and bones on your faith. Make a casserole for a neighbour, pick up a piece of trash on the sidewalk, say a prayer for the person walking by.  Avoid the danger. Not by picking the “right sort of place to live”-  but by living the right sort of way where you are already placed.

For the past two weeks we have been talking about what it means to be a “Faithful Presence” in the place in which God has placed us.  Dallas has given us some words each week to help us begin our journey of engaging our neighbourhoods:  Walk, Talk, Eat, Listen. Here are some thoughts on what those might mean.

WALK –   Many of us live in what could be called “suburbia,” where sometimes we drive into and out of our garages and off to the next place without ever having to even see our neighbours.  Even for those of us without a garage (or who find that garages don’t have room for our cars with all the stuff we have in there…), we can be so busy or tired or lazy that we don’t take time to get to know our neighbourhood.  A great place to start is simple – walk.  Have you ever just taken a walk around your neighbourhood and asked yourself: What do I see?

What do I notice the needs are in my neighbourhood?

What type of living spaces are most common in my area?

What businesses are near me?

You notice things when you walk that you don’t notice otherwise.  A while ago I walked home from church and I noticed a business that I had never noticed before! I thought: “There’s an Indian take-out in my neighbourhood?”  That was great news! I never would have noticed it if I hadn’t been walking.  If you live in an apartment building, walk through your building.  You can tell a lot by what people hang on their doors, the things that they have sitting by their apartment, and even the smells of the food they are cooking.

Why do all this?  Because it opens our eyes and it opens our hearts.  It helps us know how to pray.  It makes us feel part of the story, as we ask “God, how do you want to use me here?”

TALK – Now Step Two might be a little scarier:  talk to people.  Talk to the businesses owners and ask them how business is doing.  Say hello to people as you pass.  Introduce yourself to a neighbour or two when they are out gardening or waiting at the bus with you.  If this is stressful for you, may I suggest that one sure way to have conversations with people as you are out and about is to have either (1) a dog, or (2) a baby.  I can’t help with the baby, but if you need a conversation starter, feel free to borrow our dog anytime.  Seriously.

Here is a great story.  This December, one of the members of our church was at the bus stop and started talking to a woman waiting with him.  He soon learned that she was really struggling and he told her our church gave out Christmas hampers. She was overjoyed and before the bus came he had her address so we could deliver one to her.   We never would have known this need if he hadn’t taken the time to have a conversation.

EAT – Something special happens when people share a meal.  It is no coincidence that Jesus invited all of us to share in a meal together as way of remembering who He was.  There are lots of ways to share a meal in your neighbourhood:

– Invite a neighbour for a meal:  BBQ season is here and that’s a great place to start if inside meals feels overwhelming

– At Christmas time, make cookies to share with neighbours

– Have popsicles and freezies on hand – on a summer day, bring some out to share with the neighbourhood kids and grown-ups alike

– Coffee – are you having a coffee and notice your neighbour outside shovelling/gardening/hanging out?  Bring them one.  (This also works with other beverages…)

LISTEN – My favourite, but the hardest for me. When you ask “how are you?” stop and listen. If a neighbour is busy and tells you they are in a rush, give them space, but if someone begins to tell you something that is happening, give them your attention. If you have to be somewhere, be a little late.  Give someone the gift of being heard.

And what’s the point of all of this?  It’s not meant to be a sneaky evangelism strategy (“I gave you a cookie – now let me give you a sermon!” Not that).   I believe we are called to be good neighbours, to make our neighbourhoods better places because the kingdom of God is coming – and has already arrived.  Good neighbourhoods are places where people know each other and are heard and where people feel they are in community together, even in small ways.  So we get out of our cars and our houses and our own ways and ask “What is God doing right next door to me?”  Remember, you don’t live where you do by chance.  God has placed you there. Your call is to be a faithful presence.

When in doubt:  Walk, Talk, Eat, Listen.

How about you?  Are there any words you would add? How have you felt most welcomed or loved in a community? 

Today is McHappy Day at McDonalds, a day when profits from a number of their more famous items go to Ronald McDonald Charities. I admit I usually avoid McHappy Day like the plague.  It means McDonald’s will be McBusy which drives me McCrazy.  Also I like to carry an aura of someone far too healthy to eat at McDonald’s. This year, however, I am McThankful for McHappy Day, and I’d like to tell you why. (And after this I promise I am done with posts of this nature.  I think.)

In case you haven’t heard the story, the run down: In early August of this past year, I woke up to a hard phone call.  My sister was calling from Newfoundland to say that my dad and her two sons, my nephews, had been in a boating accident – and things looked bad.  My dad had broken a vertebrae in his back, among other injuries.  He was in the Health Sciences Centre in St. John’s, fourth floor. My nephew Matt (14 at the time) had a kidney laceration and two skull fractures.  He was in the Janeway Children’s Hospital (thankfully, attached to the Health Sciences Centre) in Intensive Care, conscious, but very very serious.  My nephew Nic (16 at the time) was unconscious. He had suffered a blood clot in his brain that required brain surgery and was in ICU in the Health Sciences Centre (main floor).  So my sister and her husband, having arrived in Newfoundland from British Columbia to visit our parents less than 24 hours before, had BOTH their children in critical condition and a father in serious shape as well. My mother had her husband and two grandsons in hospital. I had my father and two nephews in hospital.  And even with many friends and family around us, it was a constant job supporting all of them.

Matt was in a lot of pain, and he could barely move and could not watch TV for the first few days as it hurt his head.  We tried to have someone with him as much as possible, and only family can go in the ICU.  Nic did not wake up for several days. His return to consciousness came in phases.  He began to move and flail about after a couple of days and he is strong.  One of us stayed with him all the time because he needed constant monitoring to make sure he did not pull out his IVs, even with a fulltime nurse.  And of course there was still my dad, who was having a battery of tests and assessments and needed support every day as well.

It was exhausting for me, and I can’t imagine what it was like for my sister and brother-in-law.  I literally lost 3 pounds in a less than a week from walking around the hospital so much (particularly impressive if you saw the food that people brought for us!). Deanne and Phil’s constant desire was to be near the boys.  They did not know at what moment Nic would wake up and they wanted to be there.  For the first two nights, they were able to stay in a family room at the hospital, but then another family needed it.  Deanne’s anxiety was palpable.  How could she not be near the boys during this season?  A bad turn could literally happen at any moment. Yes, we had lots of family and friends in the city – and many invitations to stay at houses if there was need – but even leaving the property was stressful.  A ten minute drive was a long distance at such a critical time.

Enter Ronald McDonald House.  RMH in St. John’s is right on the site of the hospital – you can walk door to door in less than five minutes.  When Deanne and Phil found out they could stay at RMH, you could physically see the weight lifted off of Deanne’s shoulders.  She would be able to stay right next to the boys. Keep in mind, at this point, Nic was still in a coma.  Matt was still in critical condition.  The idea of not being near them was inconceivable.

I am certain I will never forget that night that we entered RMH and got our tour. It was almost midnight and the volunteer at the door made us feel like we had come home.  She showed us the huge beautiful kitchen, stocked with food and space for anything we wanted to make ourselves. Seeing breakfast cereal was a thrill! After a few days of hospital cafeteria food, having a nice normal breakfast seemed like a treat. There were beautiful lounges, a library (with computers with internet access) and laundry.  (And if any of you know how Deanne packs for what she thought was a week’s vacation, that laundry was a big deal!  Two pairs of yoga pants can really only last so long…).  Then we saw the rooms. Oh, the rooms!  The room (with two beds – so space for sister Leanne, too!) was truly beautiful.  We felt like we were on a resort – and a good one to boot – and all for only $15 a night. We practically fell in bed that night, totally exhausted. By 7 a.m. Deanne was out the door again – the same routine she had every day for the next month, until the boys were finally able to go home.

I fell in love with Ronald McDonald House that August. I love what they did for us. Can you imagine being away from home and having both of your sons nearly die?  Can you imagine how much you would need a comfortable room that you could call your own?  Where you could unpack your (carry-on) suitcase, and buy your favourite breakfast cereal and go “home” each night? That’s what it did, and what it does, for thousands of families like ours every day. It was a gift of grace.

I guess I just wanted to say, on this McHappy day that I am, eternally, McGrateful.

And that, if you need an excuse to buy a Big Mac, today – you’ve got a great one!