thankful

Giving thanks for all these (and so much more) this year:


MY HUSBAND:
my provider, protector, and cultivator of my heart...the man who's making my dreams come true...and he's pretty handsome too!

MY FRIENDS:
the ones who I can laugh with, cry with, and be real with...who encourage me when I'm down, and who make my life better because they are in it....

MY FAMILY:

the ones who have welcomed me into theirs...

and the ones who I've been honoured to welcome into mine...

OUR CAT:

the perfect little addition to our home....cuddles in bed every morning, antics that keep me laughing, and unconditional love and affection...best.cat.ever...and also pretty handsome too!

THE FARM:

the best place to grow up (and keep growing up), and the most beautiful corner of God's green earth....

OUR HOME:
the place that started out as only a dream back in high school, and is slowly becoming a reality...proud to be the third generation of our family to call this place home...

OUR CHURCH:

a place to belong that believes in reaching the lost and restoring the broken...

LOVE:
from family, friends, and my Saviour, Jesus Christ...without it, I am nothing...

What are you thankful for this year?

when hello is not enough

*This post is a follow-up to a previous post of mine titled "A Heart Ignored at Church." That post was not the first on this topic, and will likely not be the last, as it is something I feel very passionate about.*

Being the "new kid" at church can often feel like being the "new kid" at school. Having left the church I was born and raised in, for a more contemporary church back in my early 20's, I know all-too-well what it feels like to be that "new kid." To walk into the sanctuary and not see a familiar face. To sit in the back row, and hope you don't look too out of place. And to hope and pray that after the service, you won't look too awkward standing around as you wait for someone to come up and talk to you. 

In fact, one of the primary reasons I left the church of my childhood, was because I had no friends. I stood alone after church for countless Sundays, waiting for someone--anyone--to come and talk to me.  To ask how I was doing. To see where I was working. But no one came. No one bothered to take an interest in me. I didn't belong.

So I left. And not without a great deal of hurt and resentment. And some anger. Because after attending every.single.week for 20 years, I was gone 9 Sundays before anyone noticed and bothered to ask my parents what happened to me. I resigned from my position as Library Coordinator, and never received a phone call, email, or letter from anyone, including the pastor. Clearly, I was not missed. My contribution was not needed. I did not belong. I was not important.

I was starving for connections and relationship when I started attending a local, more contemporary church, at the suggestion of an acquaintance who had been attending there. I was excited to start over in a place where no one knew me as "so-and-so's daughter" or "so-and-so's niece." At first, it was really great. Everyone was so friendly. There were lots of people my age. Everyone talked to me. I started getting invited to get-togethers, womens' groups, and Bible studies. I became a youth leader. People seemed to like me, and I liked them. It looked like I finally belonged somewhere. But looks can be deceiving.  

Over a five year process, I slowly discovered that most people either couldn't (or didn't want to) go beyond surface-y relationships. I had a lot of so-called friends, but there were very few willing to talk about big issues and "deep stuff."  If you've ever been faced with a deep issue like depression, chronic shame/guilt/anger/doubt, abandonment issues, family/relational problems, sexual abuse, or substance abuse, you know that they don't just get solved by simply praying and reading your Bible more. But gosh darn, that was the message I kept getting. Tough questions went unanswered. Awkward problems were not addressed. Hearts got ignored. To my utter disappointment I realized I didn't belong here after all. 

Two years ago, when we left that church and began to attend what is now our "home church," I had to start the process all over again. Walking into an 800+ seat auditorium and not seeing any familiar faces was incredibly intimidating, even with my husband beside me. I did not have high hopes for finding a place to belong, nevermind what the church sign outside read. 

In a recent publication of our church denomination's magazine, The Banner, there was a small article written by Ruth Kemps in which she writes,  "It's a pleasant surprise when people take the time to say hello to us. But are they really interested in us? ...Probably not...Typically the greeters will say hello and shake hands with us. Other than that, though, we have been left standing in the middle of a fellowship hall, holding our coffee and cookies while everyone else is busy chatting with their friends." 

She goes on to write, "My experience has taught me that 'hello' is not enough. We are called to make newcomers feel comfortable and welcome. To accept them just as they are. God does! What our churches need are greeters not only before church but also after church. That means you....The reward comes later when someone says, 'Thank you for talking to me,' or, 'You are the first person to remember our names, and it makes us feel like we belong.'"

Even though there are 500+ members at our new church, we are not just another name or face to our pastor. I will never forget the first Sunday I attended. Not only did the pastor shake hands with us and say hello, but he also said to me, "I'm so glad you're here. May I give you a hug?" I was floored that he had even noticed me and that he bothered to take the time to tell me that. Even when we did not regularly attend services, and even when I stopped going to church altogether, I never forgot how he had handled my heart. And I knew I'd go back. Because I knew he saw my heart.

Since then, our pastor has actually taken the time to know us. Really know us. And while he may not agree with some of the things we say/ how we say them, or all the decisions we make, we have felt no judgement or condemnation from him. No damage-control house-calls, disguised as a pastoral care visits.  No finger-pointing, blaming, or name-calling. He doesn't sit and preach at us, tell us we need to pray more, and he certainly doesn't go running out the door when our emotions are too much to handle. He's seen it all, and we are thankful to be led and loved by such a wise, strong, humble, and courageous man of God who not only continues to care for our hearts, but so many other broken and hurting hearts in the church and broader community. 

Because heart stuff matters here. People matter. 

In truth, it's definitely taken a while to feel comfortable in our new church. We've been attending almost two years, and still don't have a lot of friends. But we do have a few really good ones. Including our pastor. People haven't walked out when we've been less than perfect. People are actually interested in talking about tough stuff with us. Not with the intention to collect information to use as gossip later, but to help us walk through it. Even when it gets messy.

There are still times where we stand around awkwardly after church. But just when I'm ready to run out the door, along will come Cliff with a handshake, a great big bear hug, and a huge smile. Or my aunt, with a soft word of encouragement regarding a recent blog post of mine she's happened to read. Or one of my uncles with some encouragement or advice on our latest house renovation projects. Or my sister-in-law with three kids in-tow, just wanting to touch base and make plans for a visit during the week.  Or Tyler and Mell, who ask if we want to join them for lunch.  And then there's Holly. And Sharon. And Sarah. And Jake & Astrid...

Church isn't about filling seats in the auditorium. It's not about being entertained through many programs. It's not about a charismatic preacher. It's definitely not about simply bringing us in and getting us saved. Church is about relationship. With God. But also with His people. We were created for relationships, and to be in community with each other. So, I don't know about you, but for me, "hello" just isn't enough. 

when you lose a child

I have lost many things in life: friends, family, pets, and other things that are very near and dear to my heart. But never a child.

This blog posts has been on my heart for many months. Right before Mother's Day this year, I read this blog post titled, "An Open Letter to Pastors {A Non-Mom Speaks About Mother’s Day}." She talked about how for many women, celebrating Mother's Day (in this case, at church), can be "like salt in mostly healed wounds." 

Then quite recently, my friend Shannon and her husband lost their precious daughter Josephine "Peanut" Anderson. You can read the entire version of Josephine's Story here. Shannon says, "This story is about my baby that died, its painful and personal and awful....[however] I want people to acknowledge my 4th daughter. She was here. Briefly. But she was here....I have to tell my story so that I will heal. Sometimes I don’t know how to tell it so I just let it spill out. I have four daughters, three with me and one in heaven." 

After reading her heart-wrenching story, I knew I had to do this blog post. Because she's not the only one. I started thinking about so many close friends of mine who have experienced the loss of a child through stillbirth, miscarriage, abortion, or illness--just in the past few years.

My friend Karmyn and her husband lost their first child almost three years ago. She shared her story here a while back. Karmyn writes: "I went back and forth on whether or not to even share this part of my journey, but in the end realized that part of my healing has come from hearing from others, and if I can in any way be that for someone else, well then, it’s worth being a bit vulnerable...We had no less than 11 couples announce pregnancies after we lost ours, and I learned that it is possibly to be equally sad for yourself and genuinely happy for others at the same time. Each time, I wanted to say 'we were supposed to have one too….can we acknowledge that?'"

Another friend of mine recently shared her story with me as well. Here is an excerpt (*names have been changed to protect privacy): 

"...One morning, when [our daughter] Hannah* was 18 months, [my husband] Tony* woke up and couldn't move his legs. And, so our year from hell began.

With a toddler in tow (and of course, no family around to help, and no “real” friends we could count on), we began to see specialists and made numerous visits to Kingston. Then, I got pregnant. We were thrilled! It was something positive at a very crazy time. But, things went wrong. In the second trimester, a routine scan showed a baby that was smaller than expected with a heartbeat that was only 105. It was bad news. For two weeks, we watched on the ultrasounds, hoping and praying that she would fight. Things looked better a week later, but two weeks later, they could no longer detect a heartbeat. I had to be induced to deliver a baby that would never cry. It was the worst day of my life.

I understand now that people do not know what to say when they hear of a miscarriage (or most losses in general). But, at the time, I was devastated. We heard the stupidest of platitudes...or worse yet, no acknowledgement of the baby we loved and lost. We were grieving and no one seemed to think that it was appropriate or that we had the right? If we had aborted that baby my family would have been up in arms--and yet, when you lose a baby [though miscarriage]...well, it's not like they were a real baby. The irony and hypocrisy was not lost on me...

So, on the third day after our loss I was staring at the wall and unable to get out of bed... Tony called a grief counsellor. I agreed to go ~ and I'm glad because it was such a life changing event for me. The minister was from the United Church... I initially thought this was going to be such a waste of time ~ an older gentleman, a miscarriage ~ ugggh... but it turned out that his daughter had been pregnant and discovered that the child she was carrying had such a severe case of spina bifida that he was already paralysed, and there was no chance he would survive to term. She lost him in the 7th month. The family buried him and named him. He understood our pain. He helped us deal with our loss. A few weeks later, Tony was diagnosed with spina bifida ~ [and we realized] we were delivered to a man who had lived a similar experience and knew of Tony's condition..."

My friend Juliet, describes her experience this way in one of her blog posts:

"I was an eighteen year old girl, far from home, alone in more ways than one, homeless in the worst, most intimate sense of the word and far from feeling like I was of any worth to anyone. Inside of me, a life grew that, in my estimation, was doomed. All I knew of life at that point was the bitter taste of betrayal, the devastating loss of abuse and the sorrow of realizing that girls-like-me were a waste.

I was used up. I was unwanted. I was desperate and lost and left behind.

To the core of the center of my soul, I believed that God had walked away from me. That I was of so little worth to him that he had left me for dead, for a life of damage and destruction and an ache so deep it drowned me daily. I believed that I was cursed and that the God you claim to be acting for had such hatred of me that he was not only done with me, but that he was actively out to destroy me.

And inside of me, despite all that, a small group of cells were alive.
Hope, you see, could grow, even in the most darkest of nights.

But it was not to be. I was told, 'Silly girl, don’t you know, men don’t have babies with whores'. I was frowned upon by Christians. “Good Christians” like you’re trying to be. I was betrayed by my friends. I had no ties with family. And those bigger than me… well, men have ways of ensuring that little girls in adult bodies do what they want them to.

On a grey September day, with shaking knees and a trampled heart, I walked through a crowd of people...on my way into the Scott Clinic in Toronto. I crossed the street to the clinic (they were not allowed on the same side). Weeks earlier, they’d bombed the Morgentaler clinic across town. Outside, they shouted. They pledged that God loved me and my baby, and then, when I met their eyes with hope, they turned away.

God loved me and my baby. I believe that’s true. But the people standing there on the sidewalk couldn’t even look me in the eye when they said it, so I couldn’t believe it then.

It was years before I could look myself in the eye again.

I believed that I was out of choices. I believed that life was only going to be worse. The bruises on my skin, the wounds not yet healed, the history of despair left me with a certainty—my life was forfiet.

Sure, we can both agree now, I had choices. But when you’re an 18-year-old girl with nothing but scars and a heart bleeding out, you don’t know that you can say “no”. You don’t know that you can find a way for hope to live. You don’t know that you’ve got the strength inside you to live. You don’t know that God gives second, third, fourth, hundredth, thousandth chances.

And the people who could have told me that stood with signs and shouts reminding me that God was angry, that I was dirty and that life on their side of the sidewalk was blessed and clean.

The most haunting thing about that day, even now, almost exactly 20 years to the date, is that during the course of my entire life, no man had been as tender and considerate, both with my body and of how I was feeling, asking me if I were sure (I wasn’t) asking me if I’d be safe afterward (I wasn’t) asking if I felt comfortable (I didn’t) asking if I wanted some time (there is never enough time when every passing day reminds you that you are alone and unwanted) as Henry Morgentaler was. That an abortionist cared more for my life than those who were outside screaming about its sanctity was a shocking realization.

Strangers had control of my body. Pain and sorrow, my world collapsing inside itself and me, barely on the cusp of adulthood, knowing that I was, in a very new way, all alone.

The procedure, from beginning to end, according to my medical records, was done in less than twelve minutes. The effects of that day were so deep, so long-lasting that twenty years later, I’m sitting in my office alone and in tears, because strangers decided that they know best how to convey the horror that, perhaps unbeknownst to them, has far more to do with the sorrow of an entire life than the loss of another.

As we left the clinic, one of the good Christians on the other side of the street reminded my then-partner and me, 'You’ll pay in hell for this'. With the last bit of energy I had, I responded, 'I already am'."

The loss of a child. No matter how it happens, it's incredibly painful. And it happens WAY more than we realize. In the past several years, I personally know of at least seven women who have lost a child. Or two. Or three. I pray to God I will never have to experience the pain that these women felt. And still feel...months, or even years later. 

I wrote this to one friend, after she shared the news of her loss with me: 

"...I want you to know that I am so sorry for your loss. I wish there was something I could say to take away your pain. And I wish we could have talked more today. But I'll be thinking of you and remembering you in prayer. And I will give you the link to my friend's blog post...Sometimes it helps knowing that you are not all alone in this.  Thank you for your friendship.... Even though we don't talk very often, I want you to know that you are important to me! I love you and I hope we can get together again soon."

When another close friend shared her news, I simply broke down and cried with her. Words can be so insufficient when the loss is so big.

So, if you're reading this and have never experienced the loss of a child, please know this: 

For every miscarriage that you do hear about, there are probably dozens that you don't know about. Be considerate. Be there for your friends when they do share the news with you. Their grief is real. Their pain is overwhelming.

If you're reading this, and you have experienced the loss of a child, please know this: 

You are not alone! While I have not experienced firsthand the kind of pain and loss that you have experienced, there are dozens of women who do know and who have experienced it. I do know what it is like to lose someone I love. I do know about pain. But I will never ever try to pretend that I know exactly how you are feeling; however, I acknowledge your loss as something real and terrible, and I am sorry that it happened. 

I love you. I am here for you if you need me. And when you are ready to, please share your story with me.

If you are walking with someone right now who is grieving for the loss of a child, I have previously written a blog post here titled "The Grieving Heart" that may be helpful. 

a heart ignored at church

I have never really "fit" anywhere. School. Work. And even church. My experience of "church" has not exactly been great, because churches, just like schools and workplaces, are filled with cliques. People will be nice to your face because they want you to come back. They want you to fill their pews. They want your money. They want to bring you in and get you saved. Once that happens, however, you're on your own. Well, if you don't meet their standards anyway. Their expectations. Their list of criteria. 

It doesn't happen all at once. It might take a while before you really notice. But you will. Because if you don't act/dress/talk a certain way, you don't fit. If you don't believe certain things and like to challenge authority from time to time, you don't fit. If you don't already know certain people, and if you aren't related to so-and-so, you don't fit. If you are single, you don't fit. If you don't have kids, you don't fit. If you don't live in a certain geographical area, you don't fit. If you don't have an outgoing, bubbly personality, you don't fit. If you want to serve beer at a men's group, you don't fit. If your life is just too "messy," well, sorry...you just don't fit.

Sometimes it's really subtle. Nobody actually comes right out and says it. But it's true. If you meet one or more of the above criteria (and each church seems to have their own hierarchy of which ones are most important), you will find yourself without many friends. At the worst, people will gossip about you and just be downright nasty. (Now don't get me wrong: I'm not saying ALL churches are like this. I sure hope not, anyway. However, in the various churches I've attended in my lifetime, I have almost always -sadly- found this to be true.)

As a Facebook status posted by Jamie a few weeks ago says, "The more I feel part of a community at church, the less I feel church is shitty. 'Love covers over a multitude of shitty-ness' ~ The Bible. Pretty much."  While some people may laugh at this over-simplification, (and others of you may be offended because I just used the word "shit" in a quote), let me tell you: when your heart is ignored by people who are supposed to be the hands and feet of Jesus, it sucks. And it makes going to church and being around so-called "Christians" feel really shitty. 


In her blog post titled "When it Hurts to go to Church," Serena Woods writes: "Within the Christian subculture is this overwhelming message of the importance of community. [However]...these communities can also be really damaging. They’re damaging when they’re more about conformity and less about the Gospel. They’re damaging when they’re more about appearance and less about the heart. They’re damaging when they’re no longer about honesty in weakness and more about the illusion of almost perfection....

People who know how to love others do exist. They’re just kind of hard to find. ...If you’ve been hurt in your Christian relationships, then it’s hard to trust. For some, the word “Christian” does not conjure up visions of warm people with inviting arms. It conjures up visions of cynical judgements and cold shoulders. It’s damaging when you go to church thinking that you can find a community that won’t crush you with what you’ve done wrong, but [instead] find a community that won’t let you be an active participant because of your failures. It’s like finding out that the One who will always take you back, won’t. It feels hopeless in condemnation. It feels like a message of complete rejection from God. If there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, then the message of condemnation is absent of Christ. It’s a fight of faith to believe the still small voice of truth over the overwhelming rejection of community."

In search of community, I have taken part in several small groups over the years. In one such small group, we were asked to answer the question, "Have you ever been angry at God?" We took turns going around the circle. Out of some 12 or 15 women, only myself and one other woman said, "yes." I was incredulous. Either everyone there was lying through their teeth, or everyone had experienced an incredibly easy life! Either way, it was very clear that I didn't "fit" there. I left that night, and never went back. 

So often in churches today, we hear the unspoken message all to clearly: "We don't want to hear about the messiness of your life. Your biggest struggle should be, 'I need to read my Bible more often.' " Well, guess what? Life is messy. And the sooner we get over ourselves and stop pretending that we have it all together, the better off we'll be. Sometimes reading your Bible more just isn't enough. Sometimes, experiencing the love and support of community (in its many forms) is more helpful than hearing another message about how you need to change. If the church can't handle my messiness, well then, who can? Where else should I turn?

Our last church was incredibly damaging to our emotional and spiritual growth. We left nearly two years ago with a very bitter taste in our mouths. It has been a long journey to get to the point where I can walk into a church without completely breaking down. Walking away, however, also meant leaving behind some very dear friends-friends who didn't understand what we were going through, and who for them, saw our leaving as a betrayal. Things with them have never been the same since. We have been left with either a giant elephant in the middle of our friendship, or with an irreparable rift.

We are blessed to currently be part of a church family in which people (for the most part) do not shy away from the "messiness" of life. We stand behind it's mission of "reaching, restoring, equipping, and releasing" people, and have experienced part of that mission firsthand already. Our pastor knows us personally, and has patiently stood by us and walked us through some of the baggage that we dragged in with us. 

However, while it's been great to feel like we can be ourselves and to not be ostracized and gossiped about within this congregation, it's been tough in other areas. After nearly two years, I don't feel as though I have any really, really close friends; I still feel very much like "the new kid." I definitely don't "fit" in any of my previous churches, yet I don't quite "fit" in our new church either. The sign outside our new church reads, "A Place to Belong." Yet why, after nearly two years, do I still feel so much like an outsider? 

I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's our geographical location. Maybe it's because everyone else our age has kids and we don't. Or the fact that most people our age are busy with work, children, and other commitments. Or maybe everyone is so entrenched in their own little cliques that no one has noticed that we haven't "fit" anywhere.  But as I read this week:"...if someone wants you in their life, they’ll make room for you. You shouldn't have to fight for a spot. Never, ever insist yourself to someone who continuously overlooks your worth. And remember, it’s not the people that stand by your side when you’re at your best, but the ones who stand beside you when you’re at your worst that are your true friends." (You can read the entire blog post in it's original context here). 

For people who have abandonment issues, there is no greater pain that that of their heart being ignored-in whatever way, shape or form that might take. Whether it's deliberate or completely unintentional, it doesn't matter; the pain is still there. Sandra Upson writes, “People who attend services regularly but lack [true] friends in the congregation are worse off [mental health-wise] than those who do not go at all.”  

 For someone who wants nothing more than to belong, to connect, to do real relationship, it's been very, very hard to sit on the outside looking in. Both in my old church communities, as well as my new one. Although my head understands that people are busy and have lives of their own with years of history with their own circle of friends, it hurts so deeply when invitations are unanswered, when no invitations are extended, when the inbox is empty, when your heart is ignored.

being the hands and feet of Jesus

*** This post is a follow-up to my controversial post entitled 

"They Will Know we are Christians by Our Love..." ***

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."’ (Matthew 25:31-40)

Christian psychologist and trauma expert, Dr. Diane Langberg, describes her experience visiting one of the dungeon chambers at Cape Coast Castle, Ghana, which housed male slaves in the late 1700's. She was shocked to learn that above the dark dungeon was a chapel. Directly above 200 chained men, sat God-worshipers who "sang, read the scripture, prayed, and [who] I supposed took up an offering for the less fortunate. The slaves could hear the service, and the worshipers could hear the slaves [crying, screaming and utterly filthy]...The visual parable was stunning." 

She goes on to say, "[The tour guide commented that it was] 'heaven above, hell below'...but I would argue... that heaven was not above...because that is not what heaven does... Heaven leaves heaven... Heaven comes down. If the people of that chapel had truly worshiped the God of the scriptures, they would have been in the dungeon. In the filth, in the darkness and the trauma and they would have entered in so they might bring out.

"...The church goes into the dungeon so the dungeon becomes the church...
God came to this dung-filled dungeon you and I call earth and He sat with us and He touched us and He loved us and He brought us to Himself... He became one of us. We are the slaves in the dungeon...and He did not take us out so we can stand on the necks of the oppressed... He's called us...to go back into the plague infested dung-heap so that other slaves might find freedom... The dungeons of Cape Coast Castle existed below because they were first in the hearts of the worshipers." 

As our pastor said in a past sermon, "We need to be prepared to leave our sanitized world, and invest ourselves deeply in the lives of broken and traumatized people...To truly love God is to express that love in an ongoing, deepening relationship with people around you...especially those who are most wounded, most hurt, and most traumatized... 

"If the church is relevant to life of the world today, it must learn to identify the traumas of our day... [and the] questions that nobody has answers to...We need to be able to take a living Jesus who rose from the dead and who conquered the grave and who can speak into those situations and change lives unspeakably by the power of his resurrection. That's what it is to be a church! " 

A question our pastor left us with was this:

Who has God used to bless you and help meet your needs? Who in your life has been His hands and His feet?  Maybe it was someone who led you to Christ or someone who helped you grow spiritually. Or maybe someone helped you grow emotionally or psychologically by listening to your pain and embracing you with the love of Jesus. Perhaps it was someone who helped you with a physical or financial need. Or someone who brought you a meal or babysat your kids. Either way, I doubt it was the legalistic, holier-than-thou, afraid-to-get-their-hands-dirty Christian. 

As we have been shown the love of God through Jesus (and hopefully too through someone else), we in turn must show that same love to someone else. The final question we were left to ponder, was this:

Who is there in your circle of influence, that the Lord calls you to bless? Regardless of whether it is a dungeon of their own making, who do you know who is struggling in the dungeons of this world? Dr. Langberg argues that trauma is one of the primary mission fields for the church of the 21st century. When we refuse to go there--and instead choose to hide in the chapel--we are not unlike the chapel-goers at Cape Coast Castle. To stay in the chapel is to stay clean, but it is not to follow our Saviour. It was He who said, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."’

I challenge you to go out and make a difference in the life of someone you know. It might be uncomfortable. It may very well be inconvenient. It will probably be messy. But it's exactly where Jesus would be. 

**** The complete presentation of Dr. Diane Langberg, 

as well as Pastor John's sermon entitled "People Helping People" are available online. ****

when you can't find a job - part three

Didn't think there was going to be a "part 3" did you? (Ha! Me neither!) Well, read on...

Some of you may not have know this, but before Organize Me! and The County Cupboard were born, I worked as a Kindergarten teacher. I taught in Trenton from 2005 until getting laid off in 2011. Then I picked up a maternity leave position in Picton, which ended in December 2012.  

To be perfectly honest, I didn't miss teaching. I was so emotionally and physically drained after my Year From Hell, that I really needed some time away from the classroom (and well...away from kids) to rest, and just focus on me. The fact that I didn't miss the busy-ness, the stress, or the kids--as well as the fact that there were no available teaching jobs anywhere in the area, were all clear indicators that I was not supposed to be teaching. 

My husband has always been very supportive of my business ventures; however, he did think it was a shame that I was unable to use my teaching degree. In June, he had brought up the idea of me doing some tutoring. I put out some advertisements, but there was just not a lot of interest at the time. While I wasn't getting a whole lot from EI, it was enough to cover our groceries, gas, and car insurance--with a little spending money for house renovations. Unfortunately, my EI ran out mid-July, and while both my businesses were doing well, they weren't generating enough income to make up for it. 

Again, my husband brought up the idea of tutoring. Again, I advertised. This time, I ended up with a great response: I signed up 6 students for summer tutoring in a matter of a few days! And thus began my third business venture of the year: 1-2-3 Learn. I was really excited. Well, until I found out that I'd be tutoring mostly grade 5, 6, and 7 math, that is! Math has always been my worst subject, but I wasn't about to turn down a paying job because of it. 

So, a few weeks ago, I started privately tutoring my first couple of students. And much to my surprise, I really enjoyed it. Even when I had to do math. My kids come right to my house for an hour at a time, and I do math problems on paper right along with my math students. (They think it's great when I make a mistake and they get the right answer!) It keeps me on my toes. And it keeps me humble. They are a great bunch of kids!

I have applied to several local schools to be on their emergency supply teacher lists. I have also applied to the Hastings-Prince Edward District School Board for their supply list (one of the hardest to get on, I've been told). I think I might enjoy an occasional call to go into school. But in the meantime, I'm enjoying helping kids one-on-one right from my kitchen table.

summer on the farm

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

So, here are 11,000 words to describe our summer so far!

when you can't find a job - part two

So I didn't think there would be a "part 2" to this post -- but the thing with life is, sometimes it just happens and you have to roll with it.  Last week I was selling furniture, and suddenly this week I'm selling homemade preserves. Huh?!

Allow me to rewind for a moment...

Last year, due to an unexpected abundance of cucumbers from our garden, I made my own pickles and relish for the first time. My family members received them for birthday and Christmas gifts and raved about them. (The pickle recipe was from my aunt--thanks, Rennie VanderWal!) Due to the connections I've made though my other business venture recently, I had given some thought to perhaps selling a few jars of pickles online this summer. I'd been collecting canning jars all winter, just in case. (Free ones are the best kind!) I knew there was a market for homemade preserves.  I was an assistant manager of a cafe/bakery/retail store nearby for several years. Every summer, we sold thousands of jars of homemade pickles and jam.

Anyhow, last week, I went strawberry picking at Laundry Farms and suddenly found myself with a fridge full of 6 quarts of strawberries. I put most of them in the freezer for smoothies, but made a batch of strawberry jam, since this husband of mine enjoys strawberry jam on his toast. 

Anyway, the jars looked so pretty sitting there all lined up on my kitchen counter, and I thought, "Hmm, I wonder if I can sell a couple of jars to at least pay for the berries I bought?" So, I snapped a photo, posted it on one of my favourite Facebook selling sites, and what do you know? Someone wanted 4 jars. Then someone else wanted 2 jars. Before I knew it, I'd sold my whole batch of jam and there was nothing for Mr. Gryce to put on his toast! 

So, I went and picked some more berries, made some more jam, and voila! my second business venture of 2013 was born: The County Cupboard.

That's right! I'm selling homemade preserves from fresh, homegrown, Prince Edward County (whenever possible) produce. I have fresh strawberry jam, blueberry jam, and some bread and butter pickles in stock at the moment. I'm taking orders for canned tomato sauce, and relish. Depending on how well our garden does, I may sell fresh produce as well. 

And the first reviews are already in! One satisfied customer wrote to tell me today, 

"Your strawberry jam is...plugged full of scrumptious berries! [T]hat's what I love about it....you didn't skimp on the berries....almost one jar down [already]!!!" -Diane L.

After my previous blog post about my first business venture, Organize Me!, I actually had two job interviews, but never got a call back. So, for now, I'm enjoying being my own boss (x2), in the comfort of my home, where I choose my own wardrobe and my hours. I'm really excited about this next adventure! 

Please help me expand my business by "liking" my new Facebook page  for The County Cupboard. Oh, and putting in an order wouldn't hurt either! ;)

happy birthday, Kristin!

Tomorrow is my good friend Kristin's birthday. We have been friends since 4th grade, so she holds the place of being my longest friend. This post is for her. <3 

Dear Kristin, 

Here we are at the beginning of another new decade for us. I don't know if I can express to you all that's in my heart, as I think back to all the things we've experienced and shared together over the past 20 years! We've done Sunday school, catechism classes, church league softball, and high school together. We've lost both our dads to cancer. We've laughed together, cried together, prayed together, swam together, played Barbies together, scrapbooked together, eaten dinner together, and done Bible study together--to name a few things.

I want you to know how deeply I appreciate your friendship, especially during this past year.  I know that time and distance doesn't always allow us to be as close as we'd like, but nevertheless, you have been my "person."

This past year, you have been my shoulder to cry on (literally.) You never judged me, and never once shied away from my pain. Even when I was not fun to be around, and when it would have been easier for you to just stay home, you showed up.  When all my friends were walking out, you walked in, grabbed a seat, and stayed. 

And when I was ready to give up on people, on my faith, on ever finding joy, you stepped up, picked me up, and carried me.  

Even when you couldn't relate, when you didn't understand the depth of my pain, you didn't pretend to, and that was okay. You didn't give trite advice. You didn't tell me to just read my Bible more. You just held me, prayed for me, and told me how much you loved me.

You are one of the strongest women I know. You have been my steady rock this past year--truly an angel by my side. Because of your unwavering strength, support, and love, I was able to carry on and find my joy back.

I wish I lived closer to you.  I wish you didn't work 60 hours a week. But though I may wish a lot of things, but I know that no matter where life takes us, we will always find each other when it counts. 

Thank you for being there when I needed you. I hope you know that I would do the same for you in a heartbeat.

I am so proud of the woman you've become and I am honoured to call you my friend. I love you so much! Happy Birthday, lady! Here's to another 20 years of friendship!
xo

a tale of two dressers

 As part of my new business, Organize Me!, I am always on the lookout for free stuff. Dressers have been a hot seller, so when I saw two dressers posted "FREE" online last week, I knew I had to grab them up! It's not often that I find one with a mirror, nevermind a matching pair of antiques. Yes, they looked like they needed some work. Yes, they needed new hardware, but with a little paint, I figured I could work some magic, and collect a tidy profit.

So, armed with my mom's trusty Ford, I set off Saturday morning to pick these beauties up. Little did I know, it was only the beginning of a very crazy adventure.

I collected my dressers without incident, and proceeded to run some errands in town with my dressers loaded on the back of the truck. After an uneventful visit to the bookstore, thrift store, and grocery store, I drove my dressers home, already planning what I would do to fix them up. 

So imagine my surprise and chagrin when upon unloading them, I noticed one of the drawers was missing! 

I searched the truck high and low, but the drawer was nowhere to be found. Could the original owner have forgotten to tell me about a lost drawer. No, the photo posted online had all the parts there. Could I have loaded them and not noticed a missing drawer? I was quite certain I had not. Could they have blown off the truck? Impossible! I had loaded the dressers without removing the drawers, and had them facing each other so that the drawers could only roll in towards each other.

My only conclusion was that someone had climbed on to the back of the truck while I was doing my errands, pulled out a drawer, and walked away with it. Crazy as it seemed, it was the only logical option.

I was quite furious at this point. Who would do such a thing? I had driven halfway across the County to pick these up only to have some punk swipe one of the drawers! 

So, what to do? I needed that drawer! There as no way I could get a good price for a dresser with a missing drawer!  

Enter the world of Facebook technology. I went back on to the Facebook group where the original ad was posted, and posted a "LOST DRAWER" ad. Several hours later, sightings of a lonely dresser drawer lying in a parking lot in town began to filter in. It happened to be a lot not far from where I had parked that day. I called several of the businesses nearby to see if it was still around, but no one saw anything. My brother drove through the area without spotting anything. Sadly, it looked like my drawer was gone for good, and I was out of luck. 

The next morning, I logged on to Facebook, and to my surprise and delight I learned that some Good Samaritan had seen my ad, spotted the drawer, picked it up, and put it in her car for safekeeping. And so, two days later, I was happily reunited with my long-lost dresser drawer.

BEFORE

AFTER

AFTER

BEFORE

I have since spent the week, repairing, painting, and installing new hardware on both pieces. I am pleased to report that both dressers are finally finished and have been posted for re-sale. Hopefully the new owners will appreciate the story behind them, and all the trouble I went through!

On a side note, I picked up another free dresser off the side of the road yesterday. It made it home without incident.