“One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something will arise for later, something better. These things fill in from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

“After Michelangelo died, someone found in his studio a piece of paper on which he had written a note to his apprentice, in the handwriting of his old age: ‘Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time.’”

– Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

[from Tamie's blog]

The Lord's Prayer, and Other Things

My church is doing a series on prayer, which I love.  I think prayer is a pretty powerful way to open ourselves up to God and our own selves, and discover depths in us we didn't know, or in spirituality that we never considered.  Some incredible beauty is present all around us, all the time, and is freely accessible and richly nourishing.  In my opinion and my small experience.  I don't have the best track record these days for taking the time to pray, or even remembering exactly how to pray in a way that isn't simply a laundry list.

Part of my journey since last fall has been learning to walk moment by moment with one ear attuned to God. By this I mean simply an awareness or acknowledgment that I'm not my own Master.  I'm not the center of the universe, or of today's events.  And that I'm being drawn out, from the inside, with love, to rebuild and rethink and recreate myself, miraculously.  But when I go to actually talk to God?  All I have is a bucket list.

Please keep my husband safe at work.
Help me be patient.
Give us food and gas.
Make our next paycheque a fat one.
Watch over my friends.
Help me.

Or gratitude.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

These are good things to pray.  But they are not the foundation for tapping into that great beauty I mentioned, nor do they really draw me into a greater awareness of myself or of God.  They don't calm my fears or teach me humility or heal me.

Photo

So my church started the prayer series, and of course they began in a very logical place.

Our Father, who is in heaven.
Hallowed be your name.

A God who is close, and yet huge.  Awe inspiring, and protective.  Humbling, and humble.  It sets up prayer to have a certain posture.

Then the following week the sermon was on the next segment.

Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
On Earth as it is in Heaven.

There is this spiritual movement happening throughout history, moving with a powerful momentum towards healing, redemption, beauty, and love.  To jump in is to be consumed.  It is dangerous, and wild, and beautiful.  To me, the kingdom of heaven is like this river that moves with a force sometimes destructive and sometimes life giving, but always towards God Himself.  The river brings healing, rebuilding, and redemption in ways we often cannot see the end of in one lifetime, but it is a powerful, moving force regardless.

Being willing to be consumed by that river is what this part is all about. Will I jump in and follow this strange Jesus Rabbi with his too passive, turn the other cheek-ness, and His impossible commandments to Love one another and His admonitions that we commit murder when we harbour hatred for someone in our hearts?  Can I do it?  Will I be swallowed up if I do?

The week after:

Give us, this day, our daily bread, 
Forgive us our debts 
As we forgive those who have debts against us.

Fullstop.  Wait right there, I cannot pray this.  This was last week's sermon, on Sunday, and it actually was an eye opener for me.  What I need to do at this point in my journey runs contrary to this part of the prayer.  Our pastor unpacked this part with a very intelligent exegesis that included the story of the man who was forgiven a great debt that he could not possibly pay back in his lifetime to his king, and who then went out and tried to collect on a debt to him in the realm of a rather small sum, and when he couldn't collect it had the man who owed it to him thrown in jail.

Who are we to harbour unforgiveness when God reached across time and space and died so we could live? Forgave all of the war and theft and rape and greed and class stratification and poverty and abandonment and waste and self hatred and murder in one swift motion?

Yes and amen.  Except not.  Because I actually need to pull out the hurt bits of myself, access the emotions that accompany them, and acknowledge them, before I can reach the level of healing God has in mind for me.  There is a wound in there that must be seen before it can be treated.  Forgiveness at this point is too easy for me, for it masks the feelings and keeps things peaceful and tidy but not whole or strong.  Forgiveness is my wont, when it comes to others (but not to myself), and I hear God calling me to something more authentic, deep, vibrant, and real.  But fuck it hurts to pull it out of myself.  To get to that deeper spiritual place (and actually true forgiveness) I have to pull it out.  I've jumped in the river but it feels like I'm on fire.

It also feels incongruous to look at the foundational prayer of my religion and say this is incorrect for me at this time.  Who am I, to speak against a segment of the Lord's prayer?  Or against forgiveness which is at the very core of what I believe, who I am, and what I believe this crazy spiritual Christian kingdom is all about?  Why do I think I'm exempt from this command, to forgive others because in so much greater measure has God forgiven me?

I don't know.  I just know it is true for me at this point in time.

I'd so much rather live in the forgiveness mindframe.  It is safe and harbours no conflict, risk, vulnerability, danger, or abandonment.  But I have to acknowledge what's inside me that has experienced hurt before I can heal it and Oh My God is it painful.  What's with this whole Life is a Journey bullshit?  I just want an instant graft to cover over all of it, anything remotely painful or numb or absent, and never mind the multi faceted process.

Damn it.

For Sale

Our house is on the market! Check out this link for a fancy slideshow of our digs... =)

http://www.kristamarion.com/ActiveListings.php/Details/73/9268-212b-st-langley-bc#viewdetail

"My Moon"

Amarys has some real cutisms these days.  She makes us fall over from cuteness.  About a month ago she was driving somewhere with Brent and she looked out the window, gasped, and shouted, My moon!  She's two so as a matter of course, she owns everything.  Including the moon.  There was lots of chatter about my moon that day.  The next day we were standing in the yard and she flung her arms out in exasperation and nearly sobbed, My moon reddy, reddy, reddy, far 'way! No reache my moon!  She adds syllables on the end of a good percentage of her words.  No reache!  She's heartbroken.

She thinks about the moon a lot.  She comes up with solutions for reaching the moon. Daddy ladder hepe me reache my moon.  You want holde my moon?  You'll be walking along thinking about cheese or dust bunnies and suddenly she will point at a bird, Mommy!  Bird ply! Bird ply up my moon!  Amiss no reache my moon. Sad face.

She also loves helicopters. Last week we went to the RCMP open house and they landed a helicopter in the parking lot and gave tours and photo ops and Amarys wouldn't leave. For two hours. We had to split up, me with the boys and Brent with her, just so we could see other attractions without a shrieking toddler in tow.

Today I was pulling weeds in the garden and trying to keep Amarys verbally engaged, since she is sick and cranky and only wanted to stay with her face stuck to my boob and I needed some space. Two whole inches of space.  Talking can sometimes buy me some time, so we were chatting.

What dat, Mommy?
That's an airplane. You hear the airplane?
No. It hedebicopter.
Is it a helicopter? It looks like an airplane to me.
NO. HEDEBICOPTER, MOMMY.  Stern look.
Okay.
Silence...
Mommy! Hedebicopter take me my moon! I touch my moon! Looke my moon!  Pointing at the sky, eyes sparkling, wiggling with excitement. Come wiss me my hedebicopter, touche my moon, Mommy? 
Of course! You want me to come with you?
Yeah. You want touche my moon? Come wiss me my hedebicopter, touche my moon?

I sure do, kiddo. Take me to the moon, show me the world, fly as high as Earhart, carve a new path, make me proud.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure , the process is its own reward.
~Amelia Earhart

Thanksgiving In April

Our first year of dating, Brent took me down to Skagit County for the tulip festival.  He knew tulips are my favourite.  For twelve years, we've gone to the tulip festival, and only missed once, the year Ayden was born and I was too pregnant to cross the border, just in case.

One year we missed the tulips because we went too late and they had been beheaded, but we found a field of irises and took some pics in there.  Another year we went just the two of us because Matthew didn't have citizenship yet, nor a visa to enter the U.S.  This year, we had four kids and muddy boots and the knowledge that this year is likely the last one for awhile.

What struck me this year was life's abundance.  Tulips are a favourite of mine because they remind me of discovering joy after dark depression, and re-entering a world of multiple dimensions and vibrant colours.  Relearning an appreciation for the gift of being alive.

God has given me so much, it feels endless.  And rich.

Muddy boots galore.

Grace

Amarys, at dinner:

Dee Deezus:

Ti-too today.
Ti-too my bamily.
Ti-too dis food.
Ti-too a hedebicopter.

Amen.