“unless they are sent by intervention from the Most High, pay no attention to them.” - sirach 34:6

Bowen Island, May 2010

Two of the great griefs of my life surround a love and church. It’s no surprise really, being that they’re two of the great investments offered us. Over five years a staggering amount of loss overtook, what I had considered, a mountainous faith. Chip by chip the magnanimity I once lived with came to a thunderous fall. I’ve been making my way back, slowly, since then. Through prayer. Writing. Counseling. Conversations. Hitting my head against the wall. Catching glimpses of light. There’s only so much you can do. 

That’s why two consecutive days, a couple of weeks ago, so much caught me by surprise and stumbled me over into a stream of forgotten grace. Questions I’ve been asking for years were answered on the spot.

It began on a Thursday. 

A friend from Ontario and his girlfriend came over to have coffee in the morning, then Madeleine and I stepped out of the house to have lunch with an old friend in Stamp’s Landing. Hugs, smiles and laughter were exchanged as he was introduced to our little girl for the first time. I sat back and basked in his recounting of the past year — new girlfriend, good job, church investment — taking note of his words:

“I’m happy. [Pause] It’s a weighty happiness. There’s a weight to it.”

As our meals arrived, (mine, a bed of spinach topped with candied salmon, and his, a prime rib burger,) he invited us to prayer. A beautiful, accomplished, to-the-nines man praying at waterfront hotspot, aloud. 

“Thank you God for friends, and for new life. Bless this meal…”

Bless. Bless. Bless.

Two broken people. A boy. A girl. A rambunctious toddler between. And hope spilling everywhere. You see, around the same time this friend and I found ourselves in a desert place in our hearts. Tired. Confused. Hurting. Deeply guilt-ridden. Longing. Here he is in a new place, with a fresh, beautiful posture of peace. Surrounded by friends, forging new faith in similar terrain — in a church not unlike the one in his old city. He didn’t give up. He hasn’t. And the spirit of God is blessing his open heart.

Bless. Bless. Bless.

There may have only been a crack but it was all He needed. You can see the joy in my friend’s eyes. Peace. Not striving. Contentment with hope. Dreams for the future. Promise. This is what a God-man looks like.

I am reminded: the church is beautiful.

I leave aflourish.

The same afternoon I spend an hour with half of an inspiring couple of artists training in Vancouver to return to Germany to establish a community arts centre in an old brick factory once used by Nazis during WWII. Light bursting out of the dark and broken. Their synergy is palpable. Their centre, obvious: Christ their hope, beginner and finisher of their faith.

Yes, I am reminded: the mission is beautiful. 

I come home and kiss my husband. Yes. We will see with the same light. 

Yes, marriage is beautiful.

Bless. Bless. Bless. 

Finally, the next day. I decide early to spend the afternoon in Sapperton, New Westminster. I go to meet my girlfriend who’s the new manager at the local java watering hole — Starbucks. We visit. Then I walk. Only to return to share a coffee with my mom. Halfway through our visit a woman with a daughter similarly aged to Madeleine walks in. My mom recognizes her/befriends her. Names and hugs were exchanged. 

This person is a tie to my past. Unbeknownst to my mom who continues the conversation for close to fifteen minutes. This is the girl I’d want to hate. The end. The one. The chapter-ender. A love torn like vellum, scattered on icy winds near Larch Street with no resolve, and ended in her arms. 

As her butter words spilled out, all jealousy, all fear, fled like a sparrow. My heart melted in an instant. 

“Yes, I’d like to meet your daughter. Yes, motherhood is the greatest experience in the world.” Yes. Yes. 

Bless. Bless. Bless.

I wanted to wrap her in my arms. Wanted to stroll away, our babies quietly bundled, and talk with her until the words ran out. I hoped the joy in my eyes made its way home in her arms. To him.

Yes, I am reminded: love is beautiful.

I am lying on wings. I am unwrapped. I am ready. 

Yes.

::::

I thank Brad Roberts for my new theme song — And It’s Beautiful — from Crash Test Dummies’ new album, OOoh, La La, released this week.

Make It Productions has stepped up the craft fair circuit. They’re not alone. The handmade revolution has taken North America by storm in the past five years. They DIYers even wrote a book about it.

I grew up within the walls of a fully operational art gallery. I shared my bathroom with clients perusing oil canvases and iron toilet paper holders. Family trips were spent visiting current and prospective painters and potters, equal parts bonding time and sourcing ventures. At the age of 14 I was on a first name basis with some of Vancouver’s most prominent artisans. (On an aside, my high school boyfriend was often mistaken for an artist in attendance at gallery openings. It was his safety pin earring and five o’clock shadow, I think.)

It’s obvious, then, that buying handmade is second nature to me.

Buying art can be expensive. I have been blessed to have many creative friends (and a gallery owner mother) who have filled my shelves and walls with gifted work, but you don’t need to ‘know someone’ to be surrounded by the same. 

Fairs like Make It bring us affordable, high quality art. They’re in major cities everywhere. At a show last weekend I discovered the stunning work of Calgary-based photographer Amy Victoria Wakefield. I bought an original as a birthday gift for a friend and took home a couple of her prints. At the same show I picked up two hand-stitched journals and a large hand-printed poster by Edmonton-based Bird on Wire, all for under $30. I’ve framed the poster and its clean black and white lines now lean atop my writing desk. I met the women who crafted these pieces. I praised their work. They smiled and told me stories. Now I see their faces in my home.

Art carries memory. 

I have a favourite piece of art. It’s a small painting of the Fathers of Confederation my husband and I chose to take home from our honeymoon in the Maritimes. It hangs in a hallway where you’d likely miss it. It’s not the prettiest picture but, every time I pass by (about two dozen times a day, en route to the baby’s room) I am reminded of this first moment as husband and wife.

Do you have a favourite piece of art? (A clay bowl your child made in art class twenty years ago, perhaps?) If so, what is it? Does it carry meaning? Does it too have a face?

:::::

Posted yesterday on the After Hours blog.

On the Bowen Island ferry last Friday

“He has written straight with my crooked lines.” 

- Thomas H. Green, Drinking from a Dry Well

Today I met with someone who politely kicked my ass.

There we sat on Commercial Drive, Madeleine gesticulating wildly, and he telling me he’d just closed down his facebook and twitter accounts simultaneously. He, a media professional with 1500+ ‘friends.’ He felt called to do it in faith. He is desperate for clarity, focus, the voice of the Maker, to direct his steps, to not let his life slip away in mediocrity.  

“I keep hearing — “Crank it up or turn it off,” he said. His words slayed me. They’re ringing in my ears.

Apparently my friend Sarah and I are SFU Alumni’s poster children for “Kick Starting Your Career Into Overdrive.” It’s a bit ironic considering the fact that I am on a voluntary maternity leave and she is currently galavanting across Europe. Check out the header that made its way to our inboxes: Ha ha!

Life is brimming. 

This past month I had a big birthday and celebrated for a week. First, with a couple of my longest, dearest friends at Raw Canvas where, instead of receiving gifts, I entered into an afternoon of creating a reminder of friendship I can keep for all time. Steph was the daring first to dress the canvas with paint. Then Megan dove in. Then Marisa. Then me. We found a palette, together.

We sipped tea and ate cake and shared hummus. One of us got attacked by a paint gun, all of us dove in to help. Luckily it was acrylic and therefore washable. (Steph you are a silver-haired trooper.) I will cherish this afternoon (and the painting below) for years to come.

Then, the weekend of my actual birthday, Michael, Madeleine and I (and auntie Steph, for the ferry ride!) hopped the smokin’ EARLY ferry (and lucky too! that was the day of the record winds and ferry cancellations) to Victoria. First, we were able to attend the Good Friday service at St. Luke’s where the minister who married us is the rector. (See Madeleine’s first meeting Rvd. Parker below.) 

We spent three luxurious (as luxurious as they can be with a 7-month-old) at the English Inn Resort where they upgraded us from a garden facing room in the main mansion to a two bedroom, two floor town house on the sprawling heritage property. The building out our window was thatched. THATCHED. Crazy.

We spent lazy hours walking through downtown. I even got to spend some time on my own perusing Lower Johnson — the fashion hub of the city. I snagged a sweet chocolate, black and white polkadot dress and a grey knit hat. Michael had his time in the bookstores. We indulged in a private, breathtaking meal at the Rosedale - lamb shank melting off the bone. And Michael spoiled me with thoughtful, thoughtful gifts: a journal from Paper-ya, “Granville Island crack” (aka caramel chocolate brittle) and Bowen Island’s Cocoa West Signature Hot Chocolate from Edible BC, and a beautiful handmade ceramic tile we’d eyed in Vancouver a couple of weeks before. Perfection.

The next weekend some more girlfriends took me out for dinner at Sandbar and topped off the fun with a sparkling cake from Cupcakes (thank you Sara and co!)

The same weekend marked Madeleine’s baptism at our little church: St. Alban’s. Dressed in the Dutch lace gown I wore at my own baptism, she was wonderfully happy as the service took its course. It was a profound morning as the water was sprinkled, symbolizing her joining the family of God. So many of our family and friends were able to attend which was an immense blessing. Thank you to everyone who came. I was able to find time to hand-make little momentos of the day with a type-written thank you from Madeleine and Luke 18:15-17 which reads:

“But Jesus called them to Him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”  

In between all of this, Michael’s parents were in town to take in my sister-in-law Brittany’s grad fashion show. Her technical motorcycle line, Velocity, was amazing, as was the whole show. Michael’s mom also surprised me with a birthday night out at the ballet — Ballet’s BC’s big comeback show, Re/Naissance, which included of-the-moment choreographer Chrystal Pite’s stunning 24. 

Last weekend was the last one out of town for awhile, and I am glad. We spent the better part of Saturday and Sunday celebrating with my dad and stepmom as they marked their 25th wedding anniversary in Whistler. All of the siblings (all seven plus in-laws) were together for what may be the last time for years. One sister is engaged to an Australian (Yay Lynn!) and the other lives south of the border (Las Vegas, baby) and they’re both pursuing permanent residency. The family is spreading its wings… it’s sad but also very exciting as everyone chases love and their dreams.

Cousins Reuben and Jesse Fin with Madeleine

It makes me feel better about our big life plans. Toronto is very much on the table for us. It’s not something I’ve been talking a lot about because, honestly, it makes me extremely sad to consider life away from my family. At the same time, I can see glimpses from time to time of the kind of life and the kind of marriage Michael and I could have in a new place. There is possibility surrounding a huge step like that and it will require a depth of love and trust that I don’t think has been demanded of us yet. This excites me. More on that later.

This has been a whirlwind post, I will leave you with two final shots of Ms. Madeleine.

Have a wonderful day, friends.

“i hadn’t seen them for the snow… hadn’t seen their yellow-petal-heads peering up from dirt, for the white wasteland. winter had blanketed mystery over these flowers. i’d peered out my window countless days seeing nothing but white, stretched far like linen on the line, the sky, gray-lint cloud fleece.

but today, sun broke free from cloud, melted winter away with a splash of child’s boot in puddle and there, leaping up from the ground like a chorus of hallelujahs, the crocus. spring’s national anthem.

“the Waste Land is the place where God transforms you into the person who can do your Dream.”

this, The Dream Giver book tells me. and i think upon my life, upon its seasons of white winters and crocus-springs, think upon the mystery of God blanketing my dreams until just the right moment when the sun breaks through and melts away the wasteland, revealing a triumphant choir of flowers. dreams, blooming, just below the snow. and to think, they would not have been warm enough to grow without that snow. to think, they would have died in winter’s chill if snow had not fluffed white about their roots.

my dreams need the wasteland. the wasteland keeps them growing. and in due time, spring will come. with a chorus of hallelujahs.”

- Emily Wierenga. To read more of Emily’s words visit her at Canvas Child, her daily blog.

“What if the mightiest word is love?”

- Elizabeth Alexander, Praise Song for the Day

Earlier this year I made an important decision. I signed up for a Mother’s Unfolding circle at Pomegranate Midwifery.

For six weeks ten of us newbies gathered around to talk about everything but children. While the three-month-olds gathered at our feet, nursed in our laps and flapped on the floor, we discussed marriage, bodies, careers, sex. Nothing was left off the table. We loved our group so much that most of us decided to keep meeting. So, every Friday at noon I gather with an actress, a pianist, a writer, a hair stylist and a grad student to talk about life plus one. It’s a time we all tremendously cherish.

Last week I had the privelege of hosting the ladies in our little home. Here are a couple of shots of the babes playing on the lovely quilt our neighbour crafted for Madeleine. 

The first shot was adorable:

Then we put a very tired Madeleine in the mix:

Oh dear.