Category — Seeking Eve

“When I asked to tell her story, she said there’s not much there.

She said the same.

And so did she. And she.

But I said, “You’re wrong. There’s so much. So much you’re missing. The thriving career, working with the big-name designer. The kids kept safe, the lives you’re shaping. The Friday night make-stuff-party you host in your loft apartment.

“Don’t you see?”

________

Friend, will you join me over at SheLoves magazine for Seeking Eve Monday, today?

‎”I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable, beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.”

- Mary Oliver (Starlings in Winter,) by way of Jocelyn Durston. Read my profile on Jocelyn, and her Farm for a Year adventures, here.

there is a thing that i need to do. a stack of things, really. a stack of pretty 100-page books i had printed and bound from a ramshackle pile of pages i carefully packed around all over vancouver that comprise my book.

the book about the life and mess and thrill and heartbreak of faith, and the wild and courageous and deeply-flawed and beautiful women i know who live it every day. and i need to send these books to publishers. and to agents. and everything in my pregnant, over-heated body tells me to take a nap. but i really need a kick in the pants.

aggressive/encouraging commenting welcome below.

Home is asking to be wrapped. Rooms wait ready to spill out door, into arms of strangers, onto trucks, into cardboard, buried in storage, carted on boat. Too many bins and boxes for my little head: what to keep, what to store, what to sell, what to bring to Bowen, what to ship out east, what to give to family, what, where, how, when…

But I know life sits out of hand. In arms a billion star courses wide. And I take her hand, now one-year-old, and walk our path to smiling eyes. Sit in her chair at our coffee house. Visit our park, swing our swings, dip in our wading pool, visit our friends, roll all over green carpet thick, laid out under our trees, eat sushi where they remember our alaska rolls and our names.

Soon, together three, we will light new paths, grieve old ones, sit huddled in front of burning hearth, welcome friends at ferry dock and feed hungry mouths, rest weary heads in our island home. We hear the Voice who’s laid out our mornings, years, seeking Face that tells our story. These six months will set a course, I can feel it.

There is much ahead. Family to forge. Words to write. Poetry to spill. Schooling to ingest. Home to make.

I met a friend while visiting in-laws last week who told me her story. Of her travels to Romania, working with Gypsies, igniting a call to international law. She’s running toward it. This relit my heart to study more: media’s impact on democracy — how our incessant ingesting of information shapes our understanding of citizenship. Perhaps a Masters in Toronto, time and prayer will tell.

Much is afoot in my little writerly life. The book, the one about women who seek Jesus but don’t all look like suburban mammas, edgy, world-changing gals who rock tats, paint up storms, influence politics here and overseas, is out as a proposal… seeking an agent / publisher. I’ll post some pages so you can see. Poetry is being submitted, I’ll share as it makes its way onto pages. I hope to start having others share their poetry here. I’ve been inspired by my friend Emily’s imperfect prose Thursdays.

My sister-in-law, Brittany, and I have a crazy idea of starting a little onesie company, using my husband’s adorable old Scouting badges: Badge of Honour onesies on Etsy. We’re setting up shop as I type.

For now we take the days as they come, living them full, here in our home in Burnaby… Thank you for sharing this adventure with us.

Through the windowpane I watch him work is magic.

He’s sitting with Mike, patiently. Waiting for the silence to break. Content with his own thoughts. The sun peeling any closet anxiety from his face, gently.

He’s waiting.

His purpose is sitting. Listening. Being. With others. Extending a hand. A word of encouragement.

And he’s smiling.

Mike’s simple words serving as Monday morning treasures.

:::::

My friend Steve works with the disabled. I ran into him at a market a few months ago. He and his friend sat out on the patio. I penned these lines from my table inside as I watched this beautiful scene unfold.

My husband is back to blogging. I think you might enjoy his recent post about Michael Pollan’s miniature writing house.

I sure did. It looks an awful lot like my office on Bowen Island…

where the fondest of memories will forever remain.

She just asked me to drive her. To the mountains. It wasn’t far. Just three hours. There. and three. back again. And I did. Yesterday. We spent hours talking and laughing and praying. And trying to pray.

I took her to mountains. To the heart of her dream. We stumbled out onto a valley laden hill where her heroes live. She got out. I followed. We met Peanut, the dog. And got a tour.

A studio. Hidden. On a reserve. Dwarfed by peaks. Past the last turn-back. Over 5 railroad crossings.

Inside. Beams of heavy wood. Open concept. Mac screens bigger than your wildest dreams. 50lb coffee table books. On collecting art. Design. Low industrial furniture. Schedules. Tokyo. Paris. Milan. And, tucked in the corner, an espresso machine made for a king.

I sit. Wait. Listen. Smile. As her dreams unfold. As she hears. Yes. An open door. A destiny. Beginning.

Congratulations sister B. I’d give up any day for you.  

Yesterday my sister Brittany landed her dream internship with the FYI lab, buried in Spud Valley, where three world-renowned designers create Burton’s Gucci. Aka. The AK line.

The start to a very good day:

• Waking up to the smell of fresh-baked cookies (Karen baked dozens for the school this morning…)
• Watching birds bound through the crisp dew air to get their share at the Cowper’s bird feeder…
• Staring out at the deep blue ocean

Father, let me never forget this gift. This beauty.

• Started the day with prayer.
• Wrote a list of lies that I, and the women I’ve interviewed so far, often believe: I’m not beautiful enough / I’m not smart enough / I don’t know enough / It won’t matter / It (the dream) is frivolous, I should get a real job
• Wrote a page on Choices: A Choice is Required: Easy vs. Hard / Broad vs. Narrow / False vs. True / Words vs. Deeds

“For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life and those who find it are few.” – Matthew 7:13-14

• E-mailed for most of the morning
• Read some of “Christian Counter-Culture: Sermon on the Mount” by John R.W. Stott
• Went kayaking with Karen – wonderful! They have a whole collection of kayaks here that the neighbours share.
• Had dinner with the Cowpers (steak, cauliflower, mmm…) and played Cranium. Geoff (Mr. Cowper) and I were a team and we had a blast. Unfortunately we lost by one to Karen and Matthew.

I am picking back up on the book writing posts. I am back from Bowen now, but wanted to share with you how the last days of island writing went.

The cover the ‘real’ book-writing journal

• Back on Bowen on Sunday night (April 20.) Feeling desperate.

• Journaled / Prayed:

“Father, I love you but I do not want to speak of You if it is not real. I cannot speak if they are not your words, and I cannot write if you don’t give me anything to say. I need You with everything in me. My words fall to the ground and are of no use. I pray You give me grace to write Your truth in a way that people will understand. Father, the enemy wants me to fall and to rely on myself but I know that without You I am doomed to fail. With you, I have hope because You Are the answer to these people’s longings.

It is my intention, with this series of ‘Book Writing’ posts, to give readers a view into the torturous, lovely, confusing and exhilarating experience of book writing - as I experience it as a first time author.

Lots of collaging and writing is happening. It’s best to show you with pictures so you can get an idea of what I’m talking about:

Page 1

Paper. Paper. Paper.

Quotes. Quotes. Quotes.

I love my tape dispenser with my whole heart. It is a snail. See above.

Pages…

Pages…

And more pages…

Profile pages!

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