For Dad

I wanted to say a few words to honor my dad. Truth be told, I've been thinking about what I’d say at dad’s funeral for a while now, knowing I’d want to take this chance to say something. So I’ve been practicing, picking the right words, trying to imagine what this moment would be like. I’d practice during my morning walks around Story City, IA. I’d practice on my drive to and from work, I’d practice while I was lying awake at 3am on a Tuesday morning. And wouldn’t you know it? I can’t remember a word. Not one. And it’s really too bad because some of the words I came up with and practiced were really good but they are gone so I'm going to start again.

When I think about words about dad or about all the precious words I have heard at other funerals I’ve had the privilege of attending, what I know for sure is - words tell a story. Their story. Their life story, and I know I’m only guessing, but I imagine each of us wants to live a good story. We want a life that testifies to something pleasing, something enduring, something faithful and loving. We want our lives to be good news to someone. We might never say it out loud to anyone else or even to ourselves, but I think in our own way we long to be the hero, or the beauty, or maybe the quiet yet cunning one who calmly, and seemingly out of nowhere, saves the day.

Back in 2019 when dad was first diagnosed with prostate cancer, I was able to take Family Medical Leave time away from work. I spent about a week per month at home in Wellesley during the months of August-December. During that time I’d walk to mom and dad’s from Brenda’s house, notebook and pen in hand, and dad and I would sit at their small kitchen table while I tried to come up with questions to get him talking. He did! He talked, I wrote.

He talked about the farmer’s market and selling rabbits and eggs. He told me how the egg grading station got its start, stopped, and then started again. If I got it right. I think he told me how his family was involved - I believe maybe Uncle Allan gave him some money to help. He talked about the years of the grading station in Wellesley and then the years in New Hamburg working with Merv. He told me many things and I was glad to have the time to sit there with him, watch his delight in the telling, and try to get every bit of it down as accurately as possible, just like he wanted me to. Turns out as much as I wanted the details and to write them all down to please dad, I wasn’t overly interested in them. It’s not that I don’t love his story, it’s simply that where and when something exactly happened doesn’t really matter to me. It matters to Del, so if you want a written account, Del has it. He wrote up something from my notes and he’d be happy to send it to you.

But why wasn’t I interested?

There are probably several reasons. I’m neither a business woman nor an entrepreneur. I gathered lots of eggs for lots of years and never once did I gather up any interest in chickens, eggs, farming, or business. This might surprise you but even wading through the rows of chicken manure didn’t endear me to any of it. But probably the biggest reason for my disregard of the details was my longing to understand the bigger question of why.

Why was dad so driven?

Why did he never give up?

Why did he care so deeply for so many people?

Why did he decide, apparently after a few drive-bys, to drive down mom’s driveway that night back in 1971? I think he knew that the ride down that driveway led to nothing easy, but why did he do it anyway?

In my opinion, that’s where the real story is. The why.

During my teenage years I’m quite certain I drove dad nuts with all my why questions.

Why do I have to wear a dress to that?

Why do I have to go to the Erb reunion?

Why do the Mennonites believe that?

Why do we have to do it this way or that way?

Why can’t I do that on a Sunday?

Why not ask why?

But I’m not a teenager anymore and as I sit surrounded with everything I know about dad I want to try and string some words together about all the things he did based on his philosophy of, “that’s just the way we do.’ I think we’ll find a story there and not only a story but I think we’ll find some Good News because I think dad’s story, my story, your story, are part of something bigger. We are part of something bigger, and I am convinced each of us has the potential to live Good News. Just like dad did.

So. Here are some of the things I know:

• Dad loved and respected Grandma, Pop, Arnold, Marjorie, Helen, Jean-Ann, each of his nieces and nephews, his many cousins, and then when they came along, his grandkids and his great-grandkids. He loved them all. Fiercely and faithfully.

It’s just the way we do.

Dad did indeed turn down mom’s driveway and chose the more difficult way. He courted mom and the two of them took what they could find out of that tragedy and heartbreak, and built a life together. They worked together to care for, support, and love the four of us, and each other until the very end. Together. So sweetly and tenderly to the end.

It’s just the way we do.

• Dad lived a life of faith. He believed in God, obeyed, loved and trusted in God. His wasn’t a loud faith but a quiet one. It didn’t need many words but instead arms, legs, hands and feet. HIs was a faith lived and not so much talked about. His was a light on a hill and not a banging gong, or clanging cymbal. It’s just the way we do. Dad loved life. I think every bit of it. From farming to hockey, auction sales to golf games wherever he could play but especially Chesley Lake, from Ford pick-up trucks to Massey Ferguson tractors, from Wellesley to Sarasota Florida, to family dinners, family reunions, and every type of family potluck, to his way of charming every baby ever presented to him, from crokinole to wizard, from splitting wood back in the bush, to milking cows, gathering eggs, baling hay, combining corn, and plowing, to maple syrup drizzled over pumpkin pie, to drowning apple crisp in milk, to his beginnings at the Waterloo Farmer’s Market to Conestoga Brand eggs and butter. He loved all of it.

It’s just the way we do.

I’m certain there is so much more. I know you are sitting there with your own stories about dad I know nothing about, but here is what I know for sure: Dad’s life told a story. In my eyes his story was a hero’s story. He rescued me. In his steady and solid way, he rescued mom and all four of us. It wasn’t always easy or even pretty but I’ll tell all the stories I have of him to anyone who will listen. Maybe you will too. Because it’s a good story isn’t it? It’s not a fancy story, it’s not a glamorous story or an exotic one. It’s a story about a humble man who loved his family, his wife, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It’s about a man who loved to farm and didn’t travel very far from Wellesley township. It’s about all the quiet things in life, the ordinary things that become extraordinary. Why? Because all those little things point to something bigger. Good News. 

Dad lived a good story that is Good News to anyone willing to listen.

I want to do the same. 

Thanks Dad. 

Thank you for your story. 

Thank you for being my hero, even if I had to be older to realize it.

I pray for the strength and humility to follow your example because the world needs more heroes -  everyday, ordinary heroes, who are living a bigger story, living Good News.

Oh and I guess you were right. 

“It’s just the way we do.”

Well-done good and faithful servant.

 

Forty Years and a Hope Backpack

 

Del had his 40th class reunion this past Saturday night. Yes. Del graduated from high school 40 years ago!

When we pulled up, Del looked at me and said, "One hour. We'll only be here one hour."

He was nervous. Although he has seen some of his classmates since graduation, life happens doesn't it? You lose touch. You change. You simply don't know what it's going to be like to be around people from a time and place so far removed from your every day.

We pulled into the parking lot at 5:30pm and didn't leave until 10:30pm. One hour turned into five and  Del was still hesitant to leave when we did.

Del and Laverne

Del and Laverne. I have heard stories about their shenanigans since Del and I first started hanging out. Laverne is legendary in our family and I finally got the chance to meet him! 

Del and I have been chatting about the reunion: how glad he was he went, how great it was to see and  reconnect with his classmates, how he wants to see more of them, how much life changes, and how some people are always and forever a big part of your story.

This morning I woke up to these lyrics:

Great is the Lord and worthy of glory.

Great is the Lord and worthy of praise.

Great is the Lord we lift up our voice, we lift up our voice.

Great is the Lord.

Do you remember this song? It was written by Michael W. Smith and according to a Google search he wrote it in 1983 which might explain why they showed up in my brain stew this morning.

It's funny how memories work. What triggers them? Where do thoughts and experiences hang out and why do they show up when they do? Today I believe the trigger was my first view of the morning with all it's gray, overcast glory. It reminded me of summer mornings at my best friend Jayne's cottage at Chesley Lake. We would spend youth week at the camp and it seems cloudy mornings were not unusual - at least in my memories.

From Chesley Lake Youth Week by brain jumped to the Hallman chapel. We are standing and singing. The windows are open, I'm stealing glimpses of the leaves outside swaying to the summer breeze and I'm singing. My voice and the voices of everyone inside, without any instrumental accompaniment, are  lifted up in song and knowing I'm a part of something so beautiful is simply something to know.  Did we ever sing Michael W. Smith? Maybe. I don't remember, but what we did sing remains in my memory as triumphant and inspiring.

Hallman Chapel at Chesley Lake

 

To say I miss those summer nights and Sunday mornings in Hallman Chapel is ridiculous. I long for them. I ache knowing time doesn't go backwards, and as I sit here I almost crave one moment back there as deeply as I crave my next breath. Those times were so fragile, so priceless. I had a fortune in my hands, and I was completely oblivious to all of it. 

There we were singing in four-part harmony. We were looking around, making eye contact with people and as we sang we were like one voice. We were together in a beautiful place with amazing acoustics and life seemed shiny and sparkly.  I was innocent and hopeful for all of life's possibilities. Adventure, mystery and the whisper of romance were everywhere and I simply didn't see it. I was absolutely clueless.

Here's where I rant so prepare yourself. Is this old age? 

Now we have cell phones, Facebook 'friends' and so much time for social media we apparently are losing our social skills.   People don't look up, even even when a real-life, flesh and blood human being is in front of us or beside us. Our brains are so addled by all of it we are lucky to focus on anything tangible or anyone breathing for more than 10 seconds. Screens are everywhere. Praise bands blast away our ability to harmonize at church and we think easy, convenient, and fast is the best way to go yet we are more stressed as a society than we ever have been.

Okay. Rant over but I'd trade my phone for a 30 minute 1986 moment in Hallman chapel in a heartbeat. 

Do you ever want to go back? I know not everyone does. Some people are glad to be done with the past. I don't want to live there. I'm not suggesting I want to re-live heartache, and puberty (my hair was atrocious and I had zero confidence in myself), I simply want to whisper in the ear of my teenage self who is standing beside her best friend Jayne, singing her heart out on a July night in 1986, and tell her, "take this in. Take this all in. Look around. Breathe deep. You don't know this yet and there is so much ahead of you but this, this is special and I don't want you to miss any of it."

I wonder if Del and his classmates would look at their high school photos and tell themselves the same thing? Do we ever stare at our phones and the post we're glancing at, or the video we just watched and think, this moment is special?

Let's pray. 

LORD,

I'm not sure what to do with all these thoughts. Where do I put them? I have to go to work! Life is not as mysterious, adventurous or romantic as it was 40 years ago. Today life feels a bit more sad and heavy. I long for more community, more hope, more possibility, more connection, more joy, more singing, more faithfulness, more of you. Help me find a taste of all these things today. I want to throw my phone in the garbage and then I want to pluck the phones from everyone I see and throw them all in the garbage. Oh my. I'm getting old. Clearly I need you to lead me through today. Time is ticking and I must go but please, attach these words and memories to me somehow. Can they be like a 'hope back-pack' you prepare for me and help me slip into on my way out the door? I want to wear it. I want to be faithful. I want to be full of hope, possibility, and I want to have the tools I need to build community and make connections. I want more joy, more triumphant singing, and I'll say it again - I want to be more faithful.

Today and everyday give me enough hope to believe the world is truly and honestly full of your unfailing love. (Psalm 33:20-22). May all the angst I feel for times past find it's place in you. Thank you for taking it. Be my hope. 

Amen. 

 

 

 

                  

 

Story Time

 Wow! 

I actually found my way back here and remembered my password.

How are you? How's life? Are you having a good summer? Read any good books lately?

Life on 5J has changed.  I'd love to know your latest details but for now here are mine. 

You probably know we left our little farm. It's hard to believe we drove out of the driveway and away from our white house and red barn eight years ago. No doubt a piece of my heart and a big chunk of my memories will live there forever.

We now live in town in a big ol' Craftsmen style house built in 1910. We love the house, have plenty of spare bedrooms for guests and grandbabies, but I think it's safe to say Farmer Boy and I will always miss farm life.

Here's the latest.

Kelli got married! Actually Kelli and Jordan just celebrated their 7th wedding anniversary. They live close by and I hope they never move. I love having Kelli near. 

Liz is now a Minnesota girl and she absolutely loves it. She loves her job, loves her friends and I love when she comes home for a weekend and I get to hug her close. 

Will is a husband and a father. Wait what?

Yes. It's true. As much as it baffles me that Will is a dad, I thrill to watch him with his daughter. Will and Morgan live close by and are doing a great job of parenting. They may not know it but they are stuck with me. I talk about moving home to Ontario but the truth is I don't think I'll ever be able to live more than an 1/2 hour away from baby girl and now baby boy Johnston is on his way. I so love grandbabies! 

I mean. Seriously?

Those are our highlights. Quick and easy. 

There's more change of course there's always more, but let's unpack a little bit at a time.  Life is supposed to change isn't it? I'm not certain I'm down with all the change age is bringing, but I suppose, if you zoom out, look at life from a big picture type angle, change is the story. Is our reaction to change what makes the story a good one or a not so good one? Every book needs more than one chapter. Can you imagine reading a book without turning a page?  

And so we do. We turn the page, we get to the end of a chapter, and everyday we wake up right smack dab in the middle of our story. I tell myself that some day I want to write a book where at the end of the story, the reader clutches the book to her chest, and with tears in her eyes proclaims, "that was such a great story!" 

Some day? Maybe. I'm fairly lazy so I'm not sure I'll ever write a book but I'm certain I'm living a story right now. I think the people I spent time with today are all a part of it. Maybe we need to stop, zoom out, zoom back in, look each other in the eye and say it out loud.

This is a great story.

When It Rains on Friday

 

A light rain is falling this morning. If you lay still you can hear it on the roof.

Soothing. Calm. Gentle.

Perhaps that will be the theme of the day? I hope so.

This week has pounded pretty hard. Migraines with aura, a sister-in-law in the hospital nearing the end of her battle with cancer, lots of rain, little sunshine, work and words, worry enough to make one weary.

Sit still and listen to the rain.

Indeed.

A calming from heaven. A physical reminder that all our work and worry, all of our flurry, can't stop the rain. We fool ourselves when we believe we have control, when we forget our place is under the clouds and not above them.

Thank you Lord for a Friday morning rain. For a gentle reminder at the end of a busy week. May we find true rest in knowing our place, in surrendering our worry, our flurry, and our work to you.

Rain you Spirit down on us.

Calm us. Remind us of your love, your power, your ability to hold all the things, all our things, our most precious, sacred, secret things, in your loving , scarred for us, capable hands.

Amen.

Wednesday

 And here we are. Wednesday.

The snow has disappeared from the grass and the trees but the wind persists. Cloudy skies, temperatures hovering around 50 degrees. I've decided that Spring is much like a 52 year old woman. She wants to stay tucked in bed and not be bothered with people, noise, deadlines, tasks, and all the other things.

As much as I long for a day with no wind, some sunshine, and temperatures heading towards 60 degrees, if Spring is like a 52 year old woman, I think I kinda get it. I'm tired too Ms. Spring. Everything and everyone feels just a bit too much. I totally get it.

But it is Wednesday. Bothered or not the week rolls on. Tired or not I will have to be around people, perform tasks, be pleasant and kind and somehow manage to stay upright. There you have it - a goal for the day - stay upright. No laying under my desk to take a nap or laying my head down on my desk for just a quick minute and ending up in a puddle of drool. Upright. I must stay upright.

"But seek first his kingdom and all these things will be given to you as well."

Words of Jesus. Seek his kingdom. In all the crazy, the confusion, the what should I wear, what should I eat, what should I say, how should I act, what am I actually doing moments, seek his kingdom.

His kingdom. The place where blessing was born (see Genesis 1:28, 12:2-3) and was meant to go out. His kingdom where the first are last and the last first. His kingdom where the poor in spirit, those mourning, the meek, those hungry for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted, the insulted are all blessed. An upside down kingdom, but blessed, blessed, blessed.

His kingdom is the birthplace of blessing. Seek. His. Kingdom.

I'm changing my Wednesday goal. Instead of stay upright, I think I'll try: seek his kingdom.

And that's all I've got on a Wednesday.

When You Need a Tagline

I got to go home to Canada last week. After 18 months of a closed border, I got to go home.

Currently, I am home in Iowa.

Home. Or home? Not sure.

So here I am, in Iowa, sitting outside on my patio surrounded by an absolutely gorgeous day and the savory smell of Sunday slow.

This morning I was listening to a "Modern Love" podcast. Jake Gyllenhaal was reading an essay written by a doctor who was dumped by his fiancée right before he started his first official doctor job. The essay tells the story of his heartbreak and how he found healing amidst the illnesses and struggles of the kids he served on the Pediatrics floor.

"Pain makes you less naïve," the doctor wrote.

His words got me thinking about pain and healing within the context of my own story. How does a not quite two-year old girl grapple and wrestle with the death of a parent? Have I ever been naïve in regards to pain? I feel like my soul, down to it's tippy-tippy-toes has always completely understood that bad things happen. People die. Tragedy hits. Parts of life can never be explained or understood.

Unexplained. Incomprehensible. So many questions. So much to fear. Always try to be careful.

Those are words and phrases that have made up taglines for parts of my life.

But I am right here. I am sitting outside, I am drinking tea, and I am basking in this absolutely gorgeous day. While I drink and bask I read the book of Philippians out of "The Message" translation of the Bible.

I find more taglines.

My prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much, but well.

Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends.

Go out into the world uncorrupted.

Provide people with a glimpse of good living and of the living God.

Our God and Father abounds in glory that pours out into eternity. Yes! 

I am still here, still in the middle of this slow Sunday sunshine. I am reading the words of Paul written to his dear friends from the depths of a prison cell and I realize that at this point in Paul's life he most certainly had an understanding of how pain makes you less naïve.

But now my tea is gone and my thoughts are settling. I want to wrap this up. What is the tagline for me in this time, in this place, in this moment?

I suppose it is simple: the presence of pain does not equal the absence of joy. Perhaps the presence of pain makes all things more triumphant. A trip home, a hug from your mom who holds you while you cry like a baby, time with your sisters, a night on your best friend's patio, a walk by the lake, and a good doughnut are much more than what they seem. Pain makes you less naïve but perhaps pain leads to gratitude, to humility, to a bended knee and a bowed head.

So sit with me inside this moment, right here, right now, and let us simply allow God's glory to abound and pour out over us.

Final tagline: Always home.

    

When You Walk Through Swarming Gnats

 My body is tired, my mind is busy. 

I'm thinking about motherhood and being invisible. I'm struggling with feeling angry and frustrated which in truth could simply be because my body is tired but nonetheless my thoughts are swarming.

Motherhood is a sacrifice and the depth of the sacrifice is not fully grasped or understood by those who the sacrifice is made for. 

How many times have the words, "I'm just a mom," come out of my mouth? Do I not even fully understood the depth of the sacrifice? Why do I downplay myself?

The unconditional love that one receives from one's children is amazing and transforming but it is not perfect. It's not perfect because I'm not perfect. I made mistakes and I'm still making mistakes, therefore it is completely unreasonable to expect my children, who were raised by an imperfect mother, to now love me in a way that is perfect.

I will be disappointed. I will disappoint.

I hate disappointment, and imperfection. I always want more and better and complete but that is simply not going to happen this side of heaven.

Ugh.

There is is. There is my gnat swarm of thoughts I woke up with and walked right through, complete with wings, antennae and stingers.

Ugh.

I can not end my time in this place with an annoying swarm of gnats. It's just not going to happen. What truth can I find that will clear away the annoyance?

Here are some words I found from The Message's version of I Corinthians 13.

• Love never gives up.
• Love cares more for others than for self.
• Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.
• Love doesn't force itself on others.
• Love puts up with anything.
• Love trusts God always.
• Love always looks for the best.
• Love never looks back but keeps going to the end.

To. The. End.

And that is exactly where we are. 

Amen.

When It's Thursday

I'm feeling teary this morning, a little overwhelmed, and honestly I have no idea why. 

The night played with me and my sleep was fitful. The week has marched through me and for whatever reason I feel beat up by all the words, the noise, and everything that has made up this week.

I hear the first birds of the morning singing their songs.

I want to be alone and listen to the wind.

I find the words,  "No one can get you here," running through my mind as if I'm being chased or hunted. Where does that come from?

The word Sabbath and the thought of Sabbatical keep floating through my mind. I think I could get behind these two things.

And that's allI have for a Thursday.

As badly as I want my day to be filled with bird song and the sound of the wind, it will not be. From what I know right now I am headed into responsibility, obligations, commitment and people.

That isThursday.

Lord, is there some type of Sabbath here? Can I take a sort of Sabbatical in the midst of my Thursday?

Is that a selfish ask?

If it is not selfish is it even possible?

Lord be my guide today, my strength.

I feel a deep weariness inside and I want to tend to it somehow but I don't know how and I'm not even sure if I should, like maybe I'm just making this all up and I need to get over myself and get it done.

Please lead.

Please speak.

Please guide.

Please be Lord of my Thursday.

When Its Windy

 

The wind is whistling through the windows and it's mournful cry touches my heart. It sounds like it is struggling to be free, that an immovable barrier is blocking it's path and try as it might, it can not push through.

Hmm.

Is it ridiculous to think I completely understand?

Freedom. 

"Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near." (Philippians 4:5).

Those words sound like the wind.

Be yourself. Be brave to show the world the most vulnerable you, the real you, your gentleness. The Lord is near and he will keep you safe. Don't worry about getting hurt or getting lost. Be thankful for where you are, who you are, what you have, how far you have come. 

Trust it. Trust him. 

Let the peace of God's presence, his nearness, roll over you, comfort you, and steady you when all the ugliness of the world is thrown at you.

He has not left you. He is still here. Amidst the struggles, the disappointments, the heartaches and the hurts that punch you in the gut and steal your breath, he has never left. 

The Lord is still near.

Don't be afraid anymore. The real you is safe because God is near.

Blow through wind. Blow through my barriers. Blow away my fear. 

Bring renewal and refresh me.

Blow away the fear, the hurt, the disappointment so I can stand before you as I truly am. Who you made me to be.

When You're Feeling Restless

The wind blew angry last night. I got up around 1:00 am to fumble my way to the bathroom and close some windows and saw rain hurled against the glass.

A restless night.

But now a new day, a new week that of course I'm hesitant to step into and a feeling stirring deep down that something is changing?

A restless start.

I think this feeling is brought on by the book I'm reading: Everything is Spiritual by Rob Bell. I've been reading it in the morning when I get up and at night before I fall asleep. I want to swallow whole all his thoughts. I feel like he knows me, and is telling my story.

I will not try to set down specific quotes, I would quote the entire book I've read so far. I do think you should order the book and see what you think.

After reading as much as I have I have decided I want to be made new and set free. I want to reach out  and include rather than pull back and exclude because of my own fear and judgment. I want to be comfortable with not understanding.

Our niece Olivia got married this past weekend. It was a lovely ceremony which of course I took zero pictures of but I did snap one of these guys. All together. 

Freedom. Spirit. Matter. Form.

This morning after I read some of Rob I read this:

"Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still" (Exodus 14:13-14).

Those words! What amazing words. What a promise.

Maybe you should read them again or pull out your Bible and read the whole chapter. It's good!

"Then the angel of God who had been traveling in front of Israel's army withdrew and went behind them...coming between the armies of Egypt and Israel" (Exodus 14:19).

A holy, mighty, angelic buffer. The angel switched from leading to buffering and Moses and his people stepped out between the walls of water on faith. The angel was behind, the water was ahead and they walked forward into something terrifying, mystifying, and mind-boggling.

"Don't be afraid. Stand firm. You will see your deliverance. The Lord will fight for you. Be still." 

Wow!

Made new. Set free. Freedom from judgement and fear. Freedom from perceived understandings of how things work. Freedom from constant motion, constant thought, constantly trying to fix things or move something from one place to another. 

The story that happened back then in Exodus is happening today. 

What was, still is.

Do you feel a restless stirring down deep, underneath your surface? Is it time to step into a wall of water? Time to be free? Be new? Be still?

Everything is Spiritual says Rob Bell. 

I believe it.

The sidewalk in front of our house.

When You Need A Walk

I headed out this morning. The sound of leaves, the sound of the birds, the new day sky, all of it calmed me down and lifted my chin to a new perspective.

I needed new perspective this week.

What a week we have had. The news is a black thundercloud. The more I listen, the stronger the winds grow, the darkness deepens as the world grows more and more ominous.

My feet led me to the road that borders my tiny town's cemetery. This morning I found a flood of red, white and blue. The flags were put up last weekend for Memorial Day so there were flags outlining the cemetery and by each individual gravestone tiny flags were standing proud and waving in the wind.

I apologize for the picture quality but it was the best one I got.

The sight of it stopped me in my tracks.

I have lived in the U.S. now for almost 29 years as a permanent resident. I can work, pay taxes but can't vote or own a firearm. I've been here a long time but as I stood knee-deep in the red, white and blue I couldn't help but ask "How did I get here?"

I have a confession to make and I do not mean any disrespect, but I've spent a good amount of time and energy this past year trying to figure out how to leave this place. Will graduated last May and with all three kids being done with school and moving on to their own thing I simply feel like my American Experience should be over. I have grown weary of Trump and tweets, of the 2nd amendment, the lack of health insurance and the telephone relationship with my mom and dad that only changes up twice a year when I travel home.

Done. Done. So done.

This week was tough. It was ugly and senseless.  Is this how the people want to 'Make America Great Again?' I truly don't understand.

I left the cemetery and kept walking. I didn't know what else to do. I looked up and hope continued to rise in the east.

The quiet was deep. The stillness soothed, and soon I started thinking about the Quiet People.

Did you know that Mennonites are referred to as "The Quiet People" or "The Quiet in the Land?"
That's us. That's me.

The term doesn't refer to our personalities as much as I think our quiet resolve in how we go about living. We quietly till the land, or we used to, but even though farming has changed, I would say we quietly go to work, quietly raise our families, quietly appreciate good food shared with our family, quietly try to not use more than we need. Living loud is not in our DNA. Pride is something we shun so being the best, or having the most, or flaunting our skills, our intellect, our accomplishments in any way is not a value we hold dear.

But a good potluck? Yes!

Where all the family gets together? Bring it!

So how do I, one of the Quiet Ones who surprised herself with her passion for mothering and the extent of her 'Mennoniteness', how do I live here?

I don't know.

I still want out. I'm not going to lie.

I'm pretty sure figuring out how to live and thrive here in this time and place is  going to involve a load of hard work. I'm not talking about picking up stones, baling hay, collecting eggs, giving birth three times, breast feeding at obscene hours or potty training but I am talking about doing the things I might not necessarily want to do.

It means inconvenience.

It means discomfort.

It means studying and educating myself even if I learn something I don't like about myself.

It means not throwing up my hands and saying, "Done!", but keeping my hand to the plow so to speak, and having the guts to speak out against things like:
"Aren't they over this yet?"
"I'm so tired of being blamed for all their problems."
"I'm American. I can do what I want."

There's no being done. Motherhood has taught me that. There's no end.

I'm a mother. I'm one of the Quiet People.

I'm going to keep walking through this, walking toward hope, and living here in this place in the most respectful, grateful, humble and surrendered way I know how. I want to love well and grow my family so I can mother more people especially people that don't look like me, or think like me. Most importantly I want to go open myself up and go where God takes me.

Explore me O God and know the real me.

Dig deeply and discover who I am.

Put me to the test and watch how I handle the strain.

Examine me to see if there is an evil bone in me and

guide me down your path forever.

Amen.

(Psalm 139: 23-24 - The Voice)

When You Need a Word

I gave myself a project for the month of March.

Every morning during my journal time,  I picked an intention for the day as a way to focus and to keep my mind on bigger and better things.

I started on March 1st and did better with it than I thought I would. I thought sharing some of my words in this space might help remind us both that we ultimately never journey alone.

What follows is an excerpt from my journal. I hope you enjoy.

*******

I think I may be starting to come down from the stress high I have been on this past week. Is it possible that a routine is starting to push through all this crazy chaos? 

I went for a walk this morning  and it felt like a mini vacation. I could have walked for hours, taking in deep breaths of peace that were rising in the early morning light. The birds were obliviously full of pure delight, singing their spring songs and so I joined their rhythm with the beat of my shoes on the pavement.  I walked my way into a tiny miracle. My breathing grew deeper, my shoulders relaxed, a sense of calm showed up and fell around me like a favorite sweatshirt I forgot I owned.

Eventually my feet led me back to my driveway and it was time to go back inside, shower, eat breakfast and take on the day.

Calm. Are you still there?  I'm not ready to fold you back up and put you on a closet shelf.

I have no great wisdom to share. I do know that finding a river of calm in this present storm is a fabulous find indeed. I didn't realize how desperately I needed it but the tears are screaming behind my eyes. They want out and I didn't even know they were there. It appears I've built an invisible dam behind the words, "we're fine."

I suppose it's a dam made up of layers of squashed down worry, frustration, anger, stress, fear and all the other unnamed things that I see and hear with every newscast, every report, every article and every conversation, layer by layer getting bigger and stronger. What if it gets too big and I forget what life is like without the shadow of a dam?

Come tears, please come and wash all of it away. This dam needs to break.

Come. Cleanse. Break through and make room for fresh waters, still waters.

And there it is - my focus for the day. 

STILL WATERS

Lord lead me to still waters. I need peace, and light, and calm. I need you.

Restore my soul.

I love you. 

The still waters I found on my Sunday morning stroll.
Amen.

When It's All You Want

Christmas Eve is warm, up to 50 degrees they say, and sunny. No snow is forecasted to fall. None. My guess is it will drop by later with too much freezing fluster and hang around through March and into April.

Today there is none to see, none resting on sleepy looking lawns, none dirty on the sides of roads.

No white Christmas. Not this year.

Don't despair though. Hope is falling.I feel it. It's all around like white crystal flakes from picture-perfect Christmas cards. Beauty falls from the phone call I just finished with my mom and dad, reminding me where I come from, what is always there for me, and of the place I hold in my family.

I always have a seat. A beautiful, undeserved seat.

Grace.
Beauty.
Hope.

All beautiful. All so very fragile. No two alike.

What do I want for Christmas?

You.

What do I want for life?

You.

Jesus, I want you.

I want to know more and move in closer. I want to begin to grasp all the things.

More love.
Compassion.
Empathy.
Truth.

PEACE

I want to keep holding up questions and finding delight in answers I wouldn't have thought were answers. Unexpected people, unexpected places. This Lord? This is what you want me to see, to hear, to touch? Here? Her? Him?

I want still waters and light breezes made gorgeous by the waves that overtake with only the light of moonlight slivers. I've heard about you, how you dance on the tips of waves and calm storms, making the ugly, angry sea beautiful.

I believe. Well, I mostly do. I know I tend toward doubting. I'm a bit of a cynic aren't I? I want to see and touch to be sure and certain, and there you are, right at the tip.

You bring me just enough. Just enough of a crumb trail, just enough of the barely-there light for the next baby step, the deep breath, the resolve to keep going. You meet me and we ride it out together.

Ann Voskamp says,

God gives God.

God meets us where we don't believe

When our believing runs out, God's loving runs on.

And while they were there, the time came for her baby to be born. She gave birth to her first child, a son. She wrapped him snuggly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no lodging available for them. 

God gives God. 

I'll take it.

Forever and always, I want you.

Lead on sweet Lord. 

Netflix, A Stupid Phone, and A Good Story.

I spent  a big chunk of this week laying on the couch watching TV.
Headaches. Nausea. General grossness.
This hormone thing is ridiculous.

Today I woke up without a headache. I did a Heather Robertson Low Impact HIIT workout (if you haven't done one you really should) and then stepped outside in the rain to do some interval running and right now I'm feeling good.

So this week while sitting on my couch, watching Netflix, dressed up in my jammie pants and fuzzy socks, I've been thinking about meaning and passion.

I don't want this brand new decade I've just entered to be about TV shows. I also don't want to go through my 50's clutching my phone, head down.  True confession, I'm beginning to bow down to it. I hold it tight  hoping to see a text from the kids or something new they have posted on Instagram. I'm desperate for contact. I miss then like crazy. I need something. Anything! I act as if they are inside the tiny thing I hold in my hands. How completely ridiculous is that? I'm not pleased with my behaviour and it has led to a hatred of my phone. They aren't in there. My phone doesn't deliver. I want them; their voices, their laughter, the feel of them when I hug them, not digital pictures.

Stupid phone.

I want my own meaning. I want my own passion. The kids are doing their thing and I love it. I love watching them go and seeing what they do, but sitting by and waiting for updates on their stories is not really how I want to live out the rest of mine.

They are, after all, still watching me and learning. I owe it to them and to myself to keep living full and living well.

My friend Cara sums it up for me when we talk about heaven. Her view of life can be summed up when she talks about showing up at the pearly gates. It goes something like this:

I'm going to pull up at those pearly gates, top down on my red convertible, chocolate in one hand, glass of wine in the other, hair totally messed up, sun on my cheeks and say to St. Peter,Wow! What a ride!

I absolutely love that. I'd follow Cara anywhere and she knows it.

Of course my brain wants to know how to hold both adventure and responsibility. Can I do both? Are my responsibilities my adventure? Maybe. 

So I ask myself the question I stole from Barbara Brown Taylor, one of my favorite authors: What's keeping me alive right now?

Quick answer - My mornings.

My morning workouts that take place in my living room with my very own Spotify playlist and my very own creative dance moves. Lovely.

My morning writing time that takes place in my bed, pillow on my lap,and a mug of tea on my nightstand. Right now there is a green journal involved, a black Bic pen, my bible, the sounds of morning outside my window and lots of whispered words to my sweet Saviour that to anyone else would sound incoherent.

So what does knowing what is keeping me alive have anything to do with my quest for meaning and passion?

I'm not sure yet but let me tell you a story that is currently tumbling around in my head.

It's a Jesus story about how he fed a crowd of 5000 hungry people. They were starving for healing, understanding, and the touch of God, but they also had skipped breakfast and lunch and had rumblies in their tummies. The disciples got a bit frantic, rushed up to Jesus and told him to send the people home because it was supper time and they were congregated in an isolated spot with no nearby place to find food.

Jesus seems a bit chill. All he says to this group of men who have left everything to follow him around is, "You feed them."

"Dude!", the disciples say back, "We've got nothin'. There are way too many people here and we are flat broke. We can't do this."

"Bring me what you have," Jesus says, and they do. They give him a few loaves, a couple of fish and then, wait for it............, Jesus looks up to heaven, says thank you, breaks the loaves and fishes into enough pieces to feed the crowd of 5000 and then later after everyone is full and content, he sends the disciples into the crowd to collect the leftover baskets of food - twelve in all.

You give them something to eat.

Bring what you have.

Lift it up.
 Give thanks.
 Broken and then the miracle?

Was the miracle the breaking?

It's a good story.

It holds some answers but brings up more questions which I think is exactly how it should be.

And's that's all I've got for today. No headache, no Netflix (I feel my brain needs a workout) a stupid phone and a precious story to return to again and again.

When The Dog Days Bite

Another day done. Monday. The work of it tucked away. An evening breeze blows through our house and there is peace.

Mondays arrive a bit too loudly don't you agree?

Get up. Take a shower. Hair. Get dressed. Pack a lunch. Eat breakfast. Go and go and go.

But there is no rush here. Not right now. A night lies ahead and I have found a still quiet place.

Today filled out. The stress of work still lingers in my shoulders. My body feels heavy from my morning workout. All day my mind was fighting me, wanting to wander back, to go to a different place but I didn't give in, I forced myself to focus, to get it done and duty and I made it through the day.

But what is it? Is it the way the day feels? Is it the smell the wind carries?

Chesley Lake has been nudging me all day, like a tap on the shoulder, or the feel of someone approaching from behind.

Chesley Lake meant summer. We swam, we golfed, we played tag on the playground, we biked and paddled, rowed, swam, jumped, dried out on towels, played in the sand, sat around campfires and looked up at more stars then I have ever seen. There was that feel of a towel around you when you came shivering out of the water and the feel of a sweatshirt on sunburnt skin when the night got dark and chilly. There were night walks on gravel paths with only a beam from a flashlight to guide, hoping the rustle we heard wasn't a skunk or something even more terrifying. There was the sound of motor boats on the lake, the squeaking of swings in motion and finally Sunday would arrive and we'd trade in our swimsuits and shorts for our Sunday skirt. We would head to the chapel where we would offer up our part to the four-part harmony that would lift us all up, above and beyond the small white chapel surrounded by trees.

They say we are in the 'dog days' of summer. I've never been sure what that means but I think today my soul was longing for a lazy day at the lake, a day untouched by time and duty. I craved a book, a beach towel, a breeze and a moment to take in the stars simply to remind myself of my place, my significance and to be nudged toward gratitude, hope and promise.

Speak to me Lord. Whisper summer secrets in my ear. Bring the calm of waves splashing on the shore amidst the ocean of corn fields that currently surround me. Hear the prayers I'm too shy to say out loud, those things I only wish for under a starry sky. Make me aware of your presence and soothe me like a cool breeze on a summer afternoon even when I'm tucked into my office space. I need to soak up these 'dog days', to fall back into them as I would into a lounge chair under a shady tree on a carpet of green. Remind me of what is good and right and beautiful as I catch glimpses of the beauty of the yellow, orange and burgundy day-lilies are all around me. Right here. Right now. 

Work waits for me tomorrow but may I feel untouched by stress, duty and boredom.  Instead may I enjoy the people I'm blessed to spend my days with, the work you've given my hands to do, and the tasks in front of me as I would an afternoon bike ride down a corridor of swaying trees. May I find sun sparkles on water even in this place. May I hear children laughing and playing and feel encouraged.

May I find time for the feel of the sun on my skin and may it energize for good, and kind, and patient and loving. May I dive deep into these days and come up feeling refreshed and exhilarated.

May I savor this hint of Chesley Lake in the middle of Iowa.

When You Need to Share Some Wedding Pics!

I want you to be prepared for what lies ahead.

Pictures. Loads of wedding pictures.

I have been holding onto them. Savoring. The wedding was the most fabulous day and I simply have not been ready to let go. I wanted to sit with it a little longer.

The day took so much planning and thought. It brought all of our people together and it was so special and enjoyable and lovely and I want to go back and do it all again because I don't think I talked to everyone I wanted to and lingered long enough.

I could go on but let's get started with the photos.

Liz with Kelli's personal attendant Megan who has been a sweet friend of our family for a long while and who did an awesome job of taking care of all the girls.

The girls and my folks waiting for the call from the photographer. The day was extremely hot and humid so they waited indoors.

The bridal party on the steps of the gorgeous church that is just down street from our house.

Duckworth kiddos. Billy the bestman and Jordan's friend since elementary school and his dear sister Kim.

Kim and Corey - another of Jordan's longtime friends and a groomsman.

I could not find the stupid hole to buckle my shoe. It's a long way down there and my eyes....... Kim to the rescue.

Getting instructions from the wedding coordinator who was a lifesaver. 

Will had just gotten back from a rough week of camp the night before. He perhaps wasn't feeling his freshest.at this point but he perked up as the day progressed. He was a trooper.

Farmer Boy and I waiting for the shindig to get started.

The groomsmen. Corey, Billy and Matt (Jordan's older brother).

Me and my man.

Farmer Boy and his other sweet girl- the maid of honor.

Amanda. One of Kelli's longtime buddies. Our families have been friends since car seat days.

Friends forever. We could not have pulled off the day without Bill and Shelia. Thanks guys.

Jordan's sister Alyssa sandwiched by her grandfather and husband.

Such a great pic of Bill and Shelia.

Da boyz. Groomsmen wore vests. Ushers wore shirt and tie. All looked sharp.

Almost time!

I write in my journal almost every morning. I think it is what is currently saving my life. It's my place. A solitary place that is essential for me.

I looked back at it today, as I often do, and had to smile at some of my pre-wedding entries. Let me share some snippets.

Lord, how are you with tiny details? Why do I believe so strongly that if I don't do it, it won't get done or won't get done correctly. I hate being a Martha and I know, I know you said there is a better way but I don't know how to bypass this thought process especially with all the things that need done. It truly is easier if I just do it.
I'm tired, stressed, overwhelmed, confused and scared that Saturday will be confusing, chaotic and not enjoyable. 

Kelli watching the action outside with the photographer.

Kelli and her Grandma Erb

Three generations. So precious.

Grandma and Grandpa Erb

Daddy was holding on pretty tightly at this point. I'm not sure he had decided if he was going to let go or not.

Kelli and Grandma Johnston

On the Thursday before the wedding I wrote:

Wedding. Wedding. Wedding.
Lord, let's talk about something else. The wedding is making me weary. My heart is flippity floppity. What else can we discuss?

• The house is chilly this morning. The temperatures dropped in the night.

• I was going to strength train but I think a walk sounds completely delightful.

• I want to hide away. Why is that my default when life gets stressful? I want to sleep, drink gallons of hot tea and read in a place where no one can possibly find me. 

• One lone bird is carrying the morning melody. What is up with the other birds? Are they hung over? Still sleeping?

Mr. and Mrs. Williams!! They did it.

Daddy did it. He wasn't sure he could walk her down the aisle and give her away. He and I gave a toast together and we struggled a bit getting all of our words out but we did it together which is how we've been doing life for almost 28 years.

These two planned and executed the reception. They did a fantastic job and we were very proud.

My two sisters and I cracking up about something! My sweet baby brother came in from Prince Edward Island and of course I commemorated that by taking zero pictures of the two of us or the four of us siblings. What?

The Johnston 5 is now the Johnston 6.

This may have been my favorite part. I was so looking forward to the dance and I danced my heart out! So. Much. Fun.

One more snippet to share and then I'll let you go. This one was written on the Wednesday following the wedding.

Today I go back to work. Back to normal? Is that even possible? I hope the wedding, Will's graduation, the move and all the change that has taken place this past year has made me better. I am hoping for more gracious, more patient and more faithful. Okay. you're right, I need more work but please continue to do your work in me and through me.  

With so much behind us this past year I can't help but wonder what lies ahead. Now what? A page is turning to be sure. A new chapter is beginning. Where? What? Who?  How?

I guess I simply have to begin.

That's all I've got. I hope you enjoyed our wedding story. The bride and groom are back from their honeymoon, settled in their apartment which is only about 20 minutes from us and they have both started back to work. I was texting with Kelli this morning and she was telling me about baking cookies for the husband and how she loved her mixing bowl and cookie sheets she got as wedding presents.

And all I could say was, "Thank you Lord."