Today, Taelyn asked me "mom, if you don't pray for someone to stay safe, do they still stay safe?"
I still haven't answered her. Got any suggestions?
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
A tribute to Uncle Harvey or {a thread in the tapestry}
As I considered how I could pay tribute to Uncle Harvey, thoughts of inadequacy entered my mind. Who am I to speak of him? Who am I to tell the world who he was? There are so many others who knew his heart better than I, many who had walked with him for decades, many who knew him intimately. Many whose words carry much more weight than my own feeble attempts.
But, as I thought about it, the idea of Uncle Harvey's memory being likened to a richly woven, multicoloured tapestry came to mind. Each of our stories and memories of him weave a small thread through the thick fabric. For some, their intimate knowledge of Uncle Harvey gives them the ability to weave their colour of thread frequently and create large, bold splashes of colour across the tapestry. Others, like myself, use a pale thread and weave with small, delicate stitches, in a corner of the fabric. However, each of our stories help to bring clarity and sharpness to our memory of who Uncle Harvey was. Each of our memories add to the depth and richness of who we all remember him to be. Today, I write this as a humble offering, a small contribution to the vast pool of memories that help us all to remember and celebrate the man we loved.
Uncle Harvey will be remembered for his humour and sharp wit. By talking with others over the past few days, and reading comments on Facebook, it is clear to see that he was a man who joked around with everyone and loved telling stories. I don't think there has been a gathering in the last 30 years that I have escaped his teasing in some way. Whether his was trying to cut in front of me in the food line, or delivering a constant stream of one-liners to anyone within earshot, his wit never went unnoticed. Humour was his constant companion.
But behind that smile, I saw a glimpse of a man driven by something other than the next good laugh. In the summer of 2009, we had the privilege of building a house for Ash and Jerica. Being interested in the project, Uncle Harvey made regular appearances at the house during construction. We had some great conversations sitting on the front porch, especially Jeff and Uncle Harvey. In addition to exchanging jokes, we began to exchange stories from our lives. I saw a man who was honest and brave in the face of health challenges, a husband who was deeply committed to his wife, a father who burst with pride when speaking of his son, a father who was eager to support his son and his beautiful bride as they started a new life together. He was a man who kept his word. He was a man who communicated his love through actions. He phoned grandma and grandpa, or visited them, daily. His priorities were reflected by his actions.
As we grieve over his death, we acknowledge our loss, but are strengthened as we focus on all that he has gained....legs that are strong, a body whole and youthful, the company of angels, and a whole new audience for his stories.
Goodbye, Uncle Harvey. You will be missed.
 |
| A photo I took of Uncle Harvey in July 2010. Doesn't it make you shake your head and smile? |
As I considered how I could pay tribute to Uncle Harvey, thoughts of inadequacy entered my mind. Who am I to speak of him? Who am I to tell the world who he was? There are so many others who knew his heart better than I, many who had walked with him for decades, many who knew him intimately. Many whose words carry much more weight than my own feeble attempts.
But, as I thought about it, the idea of Uncle Harvey's memory being likened to a richly woven, multicoloured tapestry came to mind. Each of our stories and memories of him weave a small thread through the thick fabric. For some, their intimate knowledge of Uncle Harvey gives them the ability to weave their colour of thread frequently and create large, bold splashes of colour across the tapestry. Others, like myself, use a pale thread and weave with small, delicate stitches, in a corner of the fabric. However, each of our stories help to bring clarity and sharpness to our memory of who Uncle Harvey was. Each of our memories add to the depth and richness of who we all remember him to be. Today, I write this as a humble offering, a small contribution to the vast pool of memories that help us all to remember and celebrate the man we loved.
Uncle Harvey will be remembered for his humour and sharp wit. By talking with others over the past few days, and reading comments on Facebook, it is clear to see that he was a man who joked around with everyone and loved telling stories. I don't think there has been a gathering in the last 30 years that I have escaped his teasing in some way. Whether his was trying to cut in front of me in the food line, or delivering a constant stream of one-liners to anyone within earshot, his wit never went unnoticed. Humour was his constant companion.
But behind that smile, I saw a glimpse of a man driven by something other than the next good laugh. In the summer of 2009, we had the privilege of building a house for Ash and Jerica. Being interested in the project, Uncle Harvey made regular appearances at the house during construction. We had some great conversations sitting on the front porch, especially Jeff and Uncle Harvey. In addition to exchanging jokes, we began to exchange stories from our lives. I saw a man who was honest and brave in the face of health challenges, a husband who was deeply committed to his wife, a father who burst with pride when speaking of his son, a father who was eager to support his son and his beautiful bride as they started a new life together. He was a man who kept his word. He was a man who communicated his love through actions. He phoned grandma and grandpa, or visited them, daily. His priorities were reflected by his actions.
As we grieve over his death, we acknowledge our loss, but are strengthened as we focus on all that he has gained....legs that are strong, a body whole and youthful, the company of angels, and a whole new audience for his stories.
Goodbye, Uncle Harvey. You will be missed.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thought for the day
"There’s only one address anyone lives at and it’s always a duplex: Joy and pain always co-habit every season of life. Accept them both and keep company with the joy while the pain does its necessary renovations." Ann Voskamp
Friday, January 6, 2012
Pine smells like Pine!
"It still smells like pine", he murmurs quietly to himself.
The "he" is my husband. The "it" is our dining room table. He is sanding its' worn, bruised surface, methodically moving the sander back and forth along its' grain, stripping away the years of abuse our family has inflicted upon it. Dents, scratches, paint from children's art projects, nail polish, and waxy, peeling varnish, are all gently sanded away to reveal the clear, fresh, natural pine beneath.
He straightens, looks at me. "Smell it - it still smells like pine", he repeats. I bend closer until the sharp, fragrant scent of pine fills my senses. So good.
In that moment, I am given a picture of hope for myself.
"You're a genius" I say to the hubs, "Do you know what you just said?"
He doesn't, but the implication burns in my mind, sparking hope. On it goes, into the night. The next day. And the next.
I am like that table.
I have scratches and bruises, dents and scars. Added layers to conceal who I really am.
- I have been told hurtful things that I have allowed to shape how I see myself. Conversely, I have experienced inflated, distorted views of myself by allowing a compliment to quickly take root in the prideful soil of my heart.
I LOVE what I read recently in "The life you've always wanted" by John Ortbeg. The author says the following:
"It is not another person's compliment or approval that makes us feel good; rather, it is our belief that there is validity to the compliment. In between other people's opinions of us and our pleasure in them is our assessment of the validity of their approval. We are not the passive victim of others' opinions. Their opinions are powerless untill we validate them. No one's approval will affect us unless we grant it credibility and status. The same holds true for disapproval."
I am the queen of deciding which voices in my life I will validate.
- I have missed opportunities.
- Guilt is my too-constant companion.
- I am sometimes afraid to voice my dreams. I bury them in responsibilities until I don't know what they are. Which is easy to do in our culture. There are a million voices calling us to distraction from self examination.
- I fear failure, and so I don't step out. I lack courage.
- I sometimes live to appease other people's expectations. A simple compliment can cause me to feel pressure to consistently be what I've just been told I am.
All of these things act as layers that safely, or dangerously, coccoon who I really am.
Jeepers. Sometimes, I am a mess.
Please tell me you are, too!
But there is hope for me. And you, too, if you're a disaster.
As I saw the sander revealing raw, unscathed pine on our table, I knew, in that instant, that the essence of who I am is still there. Just like pine, when sanded down, gives off the aroma of what it truly is.
I am inside me. You are inside you. Shocking, isn't it?
The person God envisioned me to be a bajillion years ago is who I am. I am not who I think I am. Which is good news, because I am sometimes very critical of myself (know anyone like that?)
I can dust off the dreams; re-ignite passions.
I can discover the truth about who I am. In doing so, the deep-rooted lies are dispelled and the freedom that comes from truth can be experienced.
So, with my right hand raised, my resolution is this: I will resolve to smell like myself!
The "he" is my husband. The "it" is our dining room table. He is sanding its' worn, bruised surface, methodically moving the sander back and forth along its' grain, stripping away the years of abuse our family has inflicted upon it. Dents, scratches, paint from children's art projects, nail polish, and waxy, peeling varnish, are all gently sanded away to reveal the clear, fresh, natural pine beneath.
He straightens, looks at me. "Smell it - it still smells like pine", he repeats. I bend closer until the sharp, fragrant scent of pine fills my senses. So good.
In that moment, I am given a picture of hope for myself.
"You're a genius" I say to the hubs, "Do you know what you just said?"
He doesn't, but the implication burns in my mind, sparking hope. On it goes, into the night. The next day. And the next.
I am like that table.
I have scratches and bruises, dents and scars. Added layers to conceal who I really am.
- I have been told hurtful things that I have allowed to shape how I see myself. Conversely, I have experienced inflated, distorted views of myself by allowing a compliment to quickly take root in the prideful soil of my heart.
I LOVE what I read recently in "The life you've always wanted" by John Ortbeg. The author says the following:
"It is not another person's compliment or approval that makes us feel good; rather, it is our belief that there is validity to the compliment. In between other people's opinions of us and our pleasure in them is our assessment of the validity of their approval. We are not the passive victim of others' opinions. Their opinions are powerless untill we validate them. No one's approval will affect us unless we grant it credibility and status. The same holds true for disapproval."
I am the queen of deciding which voices in my life I will validate.
- I have missed opportunities.
- Guilt is my too-constant companion.
- I am sometimes afraid to voice my dreams. I bury them in responsibilities until I don't know what they are. Which is easy to do in our culture. There are a million voices calling us to distraction from self examination.
- I fear failure, and so I don't step out. I lack courage.
- I sometimes live to appease other people's expectations. A simple compliment can cause me to feel pressure to consistently be what I've just been told I am.
All of these things act as layers that safely, or dangerously, coccoon who I really am.
Jeepers. Sometimes, I am a mess.
Please tell me you are, too!
But there is hope for me. And you, too, if you're a disaster.
As I saw the sander revealing raw, unscathed pine on our table, I knew, in that instant, that the essence of who I am is still there. Just like pine, when sanded down, gives off the aroma of what it truly is.
I am inside me. You are inside you. Shocking, isn't it?
The person God envisioned me to be a bajillion years ago is who I am. I am not who I think I am. Which is good news, because I am sometimes very critical of myself (know anyone like that?)
I can dust off the dreams; re-ignite passions.
I can discover the truth about who I am. In doing so, the deep-rooted lies are dispelled and the freedom that comes from truth can be experienced.
So, with my right hand raised, my resolution is this: I will resolve to smell like myself!
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