“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?

[acrylic, foil and paper on canvas]

“All of us are trees in winter, with little to give, stripped of leaves and growth, whom God loves unconditionally, anyway.”

- Brother Lawrence

She’s playing with blocks. small pink ones. pressing them onto big blue duplo.

fit. fit. fit.

and then she presses a little too hard and pop! they all crumble under the weight of her small hand.

but she doesn’t miss a beat. gathers them all up and begins again — building something new.

oh, the things i can learn from my children.

to let go of what i’ve built. let them fall. peacefully pick up the pieces and begin again.

___________________

Joining with Emily 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.

While this blog has been silent for some time my writing has continued to appear in some wonderful publications. My most recent article for Comment titled “Storytelling Clothes” appeared in December.

Click here to read the article in full. Here is a short excerpt:

Clothing is a topic to which we pay little mind except, perhaps, when the conditions in poorly ventilated sweat shops make the front page news. Like us, God cares about the woman behind the serger; but He also cares what we put on our backs. We seldom remember that the first garments were made by God for Adam and Eve in the Garden.

Teresa Smed, a Vancouver-based jewelry designer shared her thoughts on God’s concern with clothing.  “I definitely think what we wear matters to God. I like to think about where everything comes from. Everything has a price. If your shoes are made by a child in a sweatshop in China — that has a cost. If I can clothe me and my kids with recycled clothing — it matters. I love fashion. I love accessories. People would call me ‘fashion forward.’ It’s about self-expression, and that’s okay. But where your treasure is your heart will be also.”

The story we’ve been telling

God never commanded us to get dressed. When he came looking for us we were crouched in Eden’s thicket hiding. We chose to cover parts of ourselves up, sin revealing impropriety.

“That’s how clothes can be,” comments designer Paul Hardy, a Christian anomaly in the world of high fashion. “It can go either way. In fashion, as in any other creative field, imagination can be used as an expression of edification or can prey on the insecurities of others.”

“The prayer preceding all prayers is “May it be the real I who speaks. May it be the real Thou that I speak to.”

- C.S. Lewis in Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, Chapter 15

“As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles.” - Walt Whitman

:::

oh Walt, yes, let me see with your eyes.

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.

A dream fulfilled.

Here’s what we’re in for…

Visit, Anyone?

Now we need our house to sell… please lift up a prayer.

“Holy God, maker of the skies above, lowly Christ, born amidst the growing earth, Spirit of Life, wind over the flowing waters, in earth, sea and sky, you are there. When we have not touched, but trampled you in creation, when we have not met but missed you in one another, forgive us. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.”

- From Touchstone, sent to me by my remarkable husband