The stuff that matters is hard work.

Getting out of bed.  Praying.  Reading Hebrews.  Waking children. Cooking.  Drinking 8 glasses of water.  Dressing warmly for a walk in winter weather.  Extracting teeth.  Shovelling snow.  Picking peas.  Washing windows.  Trust.  Learning algebra.  Preaching.  Abstinence. Building muscle.  Memorizing.  Sawing logs.  Vaccinating calves.  Scrubbing bathtubs.  Training children.  Losing weight.  Loving.

The stuff that’s not as important comes easily.   Staring at the daily planner but not planning.  Fear.  Gazing out the window.  Eating raisin tart bars. Exaggerating.   Grabbing another handful of cheetos.   Lying in a warm bed.  Gaining weight.  Poking fun at someone.  Checking facebook.  Being served.  Worry.  Picking at hangnails.  And talking.  Talking is easy.

At least for some of us.  From our nice warm pews on Sunday morning we discuss reaching the lost.  We say good words.  We mean them with our whole hearts. 

From our little Facebook platform we rally against abortion.  We link.  We share.  We state our opinions. 

We shake our head at the sad state of our nation.  We mourn the loss of principle.  We rant. We follow conspiracy theories.   We remember better days.

We put this writer/speaker on a pedestal, but research the trash on that one.

We say a lot, but our hands stay clean.

We really wish we could help, but we don’t know how.  Since we don’t know how to help, we talk.  And we eat.

Do we really think people will change their minds because of what we say?  And is the source of all the information we have flying around trustworthy?

Dan’s dad always said, “Paper will stay still for whatever you want to write on it.”   A computer screen is pretty cooperative that way too.

Mennonites have traditionally not taken up arms.  I didn’t grow up rallying pro-life.  We were taught to be law-abiding citizens.  But man we can talk.  I will say what I jolly well please about that snake in the grass Obama.

The stuff that matters is hard work.

I’m so proud of my sister in law who teaches abstinence to today’s teens with hope that they won’t choose abortion someday.

The man who prays for his president instead of bashing him is my hero.   

I feel warm inside when the neighbor tells me that a man from my church really lives what he preaches.

Because all the stands we take and all the talk we talk is nothing if we don’t live the life.

There’s certainly a time to weep over sin like Jeremiah did. 

I hope I will stand like Daniel and his friends if I’m ever faced with the choice they were.

It is right and humane to grieve the loss of precious life through abortion or war.

And I know those Old Testament prophets preached on and on to a society that wasn’t hearing or obeying.

There might even be a time to pray vengeance on the enemies of God like David did.

But Jesus’ way is even more attractive.

From my friend Michelles’ blog:  We must live intentionally. What if instead of saying, “THEY need to
______________”, we’d buck up and start saying “I need to __________________.”

Talk is easy.  The stuff that matters is hard work.

Author Philip Yancey says, “Each of Paul’s letters ends with a call to practical acts of love and service:  prayer, sharing with the needy, comforting the sick, hospitality, humility.  We dare not devalue the “ordinary”–actually most extraordinary–work of God making himself at home in our lives. These are the marks of the Spirit-filled life.”

He also says, “I can write what I believe to be true even while painfully aware of my own inability to atain what I urge others towards.”

I feel that just now.

 

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Tori underwent anesthesia and had some mean teeth pulled last week.   She was sitting at the table with a very sore mouth eating mashed pears and bananas the other day and I thought sadly that growing up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Liesl was squinching her eyes shut as she ate her toast and said, “My eyes can cover up the whole world!”  That is so her, oozing with confidence.   Not “I can’t see anything.”  More like, “I can control the light and darkness myself.”

From Natalia to Liesl today, “Let’s go mess up our playhouse.  It’s so fun cleaning it up.”  Good job, girls.  Prepping for life as a mom. The endless cycle of cleaning and messing up.

When she wears this dress handed down from her aunt, I call her Laura Ingalls.

My niece Annie played Mrs. Pye in a Green Gables musical at her school last weekend.  Victoria & I went to watch it one night with Barb and her girls.  Barb is the nicest sister in law you could have and we had a great night.  Annie was beautiful in her pink dress and played her part well with the gaggle of Avonlea gossips.  It was a fun production, representing so much hard work on the part of Dr. Kearney Middle School in Fort Saint John. 

The lady behind us was Gilbert’s grandmother.

Some days this is where it’s at.  Five minutes in the corner with high hopes on my part for reform when they’re dismissed.

What I see from the loveseat in the mornings.

Dan told me about this story he read on the news. A 55 year old British grandmother who was smuggling drugs into Indonesia was caught with 2 and 1/2 million dollars worth of cocaine in the lining of her suitcase in the Bali airport.  She was tried and is sentenced to die in Indonesia.

I don’t know why I had to write that, but it really got me, that story.

We had fun setting up this fellow in Mr. Mack’s chair at school for his birthday.  He’s talking on an iphone.

Getting ready to bake cookies. 

Goodbye for now, friends.

 

 

 

It’s Sunday night and everyone is in bed but Dan & me. We’re in the living room on our respective laptops.  He is reading about snakes, bless his heart.  And I am reading and writing.  Because I can. 

We sang at the senior’s home tonight with our church.  I just love seeing little old ladies closing their eyes and singing “We have an anchor that keeps the soul, steadfast and sure while the billows roll….”

If you want to read something good, go to Dorcas Smucker’s post about her son who joined the Navy and works in Washington D.C.

I just have little bits of random stuff to say here now, so click the X if you’re looking for something wise or noble.  I also promised myself that I would post at 10:45, so there’s not much time.

Tonight before bedtime this was how the big brown chair looked.  Straight No Chaser singing The Lion Sleeps Tonight has become a family favorite.  Alec and Bryant and Dan do a fairly good impersonation. (edit:  I had gone to bed like I should.  No sooner had I laid down beside Dan than something started bothering me.  I had writtem “impersonification” for impersonation here and I just wasn’t sure if it was a word.  Out of bed to google the word, which wasn’t a word.  Impersonation.  Score!  Yikes. I wish I was brighter.)

My Christmas cards are still up.  Do you have a problem with that?  Most of them come after Christmas here.  January is loaded with mail.  I kind of like it, being so far away from everyone.  Because we first have Christmas, and then we have Christmas mail.

Liesl just started drawing people.  I am totally smitten.  The labels are her explanation of her picture of Daddy & Mommy.

 

 

Victoria has oral surgery coming up, poor beautiful girl.  Her surgeon’s name is Dr. Lung.  I wonder if he doesn’t always have the niggling feeling that he missed his calling.

Alec’s 15 year old take on being back to school after Christmas holidays:  “It’s not fun, but it’s good.”  I thought that was profound and so true of much of life.  It’s not fun, but it’s good.

It’s still cold here.  The oilfield is still oiling.  The cows have been getting out, but they stopped bawling for their calves long ago.  I am sloooooowly housecleaning here and there.   The winter sunsets still amaze.  The cookies disappear rapidly.   And I think often of Ann Lamott and her book.  Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers.  I never read it, but I saw it in Coles in Grande Prairie.     

It’s 10:55 now.  I wish I had something brilliant to leave with you, like my Mennonite blogging favorites, Shari and Dorcas, would certaintly deliver.

But I’m feeling tired and Luci-ish.

A cheery Monday to you, through the haze of lunch boxes…or stomach flus….or freezing weather…or rebellious children…or harder things that I know nothing about.

Remember to look UP.  Don’t forget to talk to God.  He loves you.

Written Monday, January 7

Alec ate 4 hard-boiled eggs at one shot last night. 

This morning on the way to school I picked up what I thought was the mint Blistex and tried to take the cap off of it.  It was an AA battery.

Andre & Liesl played so extremely nicely this morning.  Honestly, the fighting goes by Days around here.  We have beautiful lego-playing, song-humming, quiet conversation, lots of coloring pages days.  And then there are the begging-to-watch-something-on-the-computer, get-out-of-my-way, nothing’s-fun-around-here and my-family-just-doesn’t-care days.   I haven’t clued in to what swings the compass.

I went downstairs to check on Andre & Liesl once and Liesl was saying, “I actually have two boyfriends at one time.”  And Andre said, “Which one are you going to marry?”  And Liesl said she would marry him and he was so glad.  Then immediately there was a baby.    Which reminds me that not so long ago she said to Dan & I:  “Did you guys go on your first date and then have me right away?”  I don’t know when she thinks we had the first five.

 Sometimes we work at keepin’ it real and then feel like we put too much of ourselves out there for others to poke at.  I do that on a regular basis in conversation with the people I know the best.  And with strangers.  I do it here when I blog too.   Then I obsess.   Who else gets the humour of why a (conservative-ish) Mennonite minister’s wife may or may not dye her hair?  Or why in the world would she feel like she should butcher chickens to be a good person?  (Both are points mentioned in my last post.) 

Dan (kindly) told me the other night that he sometimes thinks bloggers tell their faults and believe that in being honest or funny about them it makes them okay.  I was hurt for a bit, but came back with the shot that I am sometimes more encouraged by hearing someone admit their struggles than I am with hearing their victories.  He agreed.

But I see his point. 

I really DO want words that are always spoken with grace and seasoned with salt.  I am all for discreet and chaste.  Not only because it’s a Biblical command.  It’s also attractive.  I’m challenged by a couple of commenters on Shari’s pastor’s wife post.

 

There are times when I wonder if someone else was meant for my job description .  So when the courageous and perceptive Shari Zook at Confessions of a Woman Learning to Live asked me if I had something to say about being a pastor’s wife, I’m afraid I talked her ear off.  Like my friend Shari from the hills of Pennsylvania, I “feel supremely lucky to have a church group that lets me be one of them.” (her words).  And my church community is one of the most wholesome and accepting you will find anywhere.  

But we don’t always feel like the women of the hour.  Observe. 

(Shari takes the lead in this post.  She patched the emails into an essay and trimmed the edges and rounded the corners.  Her words are in black and mine are in blue.)

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Confession: We’re not perfect pastor’s wives.

Do you know perfect pastor’s wives? Coming soon to a church near you… The slightly-rounded-but-not-overweight, comfortably maternal type who live for Sunday mornings, who volunteer in the church library, and who are never seen without a smile and nylons.

Their speech is guarded, sincere, and above all, uplifting. Their hair is cooperative. Their hosiery is free of runs. Their children are models of virtue. Their husbands rise up and call on them. To teach Sunday school.

We do this pastor’s wife thing because we love our men, and are deeply committed to their callings. But hey, give us a long enough tether and we’d be heading for a sunny South Sea island. So Luci, how would life be different if you weren’t a pastor’s wife?

I think the first thing that comes to my mind is that I really wish I could dye my hair because I’m getting grey so young.　 And in reality I could. But I’ve mourned this problem so loudly that now everyone would notice if I did.　 And when it comes down to it, I’m afraid.

Yeah, I… wait. Did you just say you want to dye your hair??

[shrieks of irreverent mirth]

And Dan claims he likes me this way anyway. (Laugh away, all of you dyed-hair ladies reading this.  I am who I am and this is where it’s at.)

I love trips and running around and getting away.　 I live for hot sunshine　in a community of ladies who love their winter days so they can sew and houseclean.　 Half of them are good farm women who help their husbands brand and vaccinate.　 Dan is the farmer here, but I don’t know much about what’s going on in the corrals and am easily bored with calving talk.　

　

I resist huge urges to laugh in church when the singing goes badly and sometimes I want to mix up the service and change the staidness (which isn’t really very staid….just comfortable and habitual).

　

My relationship with gardening is love/hate.　 And I really should butcher the old hens that Tammy offered me instead of blogging.

And don’t get me started on how our two youngest behave in church.

Oh, no doubt. Isn’t there a Bible verse about having her children in perfect order? What if mine run away from me in the service while their dad is preaching and won’t come back?

Surely the perfect pastor’s wife wouldn’t follow the shallowness of social media like Dan’s wife does.　

Or send frozen pizzas for school lunches once a week.　 I feel guilty about this one because the church gives us an offering every 5th Sunday and maybe they don’t feel like buying us pizzas, you know.

What about you, Shari?

A good pastor’s wife would probably not go out for coffee and pie with a friend at a 24-hour restaurant after the revival meeting lets out—one of my latest exploits.

Or go into serious overload at the end of every member’s meeting. After the last one I started laughing uproariously just to de-stress. Unfortunately I was still in the auditorium.

She probably wouldn’t be so afraid of people.

Or make so many tragic relational booboos.

Or have cause to fear that her daughter will grow up to be just like her.

A perfect pastor’s wife would not be so worried about the opinions of others.　 That I know for a solemn fact.

　

Or follow the 2012 election and debates surrounding it till she can’t sleep at night.

　

Or dread teaching preschool Sunday school class.

　

Or mutter crude words under her breath every time pandemonium breaks out around the house. Or be heard saying holy cow in the orthodontist’s office.

She probably wouldn’t use her children as an excuse to sneak out of difficult meetings.

Or publicly campaign for her opponents in the upcoming head pastor election.

Or let her children run wild and her washer go through a cycle with no clothes in it while she wrote an email like I did just now.

　

Or wish that she had an in-house chef.

　

Or be speechless on the topic of hell.

　

Or pray frantic prayers that the guests she knows she needs to invite for lunch will say no because the house is a mess at home.

You see? We try, but…

Now, dear reader (ooh! That was a pleasant rush of real pastor’s wifing adrenaline), if you search your heart and think “But I don’t think I have high expectations for my pastor’s wife,” just search one level deeper. What would you expect of yourself if you were her?

We do realize that most of our expectations are self-imposed ones.

Of course. But that doesn’t make them any less real, does it? So, all you people out there like us. If you are a pastor’s wife, take a little time to laugh at yourself. And if you are not a pastor’s wife, cut yours some extra slack this week.

Every woman’s hosiery has its runs.

*****

In collaboration with Shari Zook.  Check out her blog.  You will not be disappointed.

Our mutual friend Dorcas Smucker also said some great things on pastor’s wifing. You may enjoy them here and here.

Some far out dreams need to be laid down in the interest of peace and contentment.  Most of the time I’m resigned to the fact that I will likely never write anything brilliant, sing Handel’s Messiah, visit Italy, or learn to play the piano at nearly 40.

Then there are goals/dreams that are on a back burner and you know they might always stay there, simmering away.  Mine are things like adopting a Down’s syndrome child from Serbia or Russia, visiting Chile, having a sister who lives next door and an avacado or pecan tree in the backyard, studying at Faith Builders with Dan, taking a watercolor or writing class, feeding hungry people under a burning Ugandan sun.

But we need short term goals too, or life crumbles away. I remember feeling really discouraged at the beginning of last year because life felt like a meaningless cycle and the year ahead looked overwhelming.  But this year is different and I am surprised by hope.  I have a burning desire to purge and clean and maybe even beautify.  During the baby years (which lasted pretty long here ) things were left to themselves and the result is not pretty.  I want to blame my lack of focus and discipline on the depression battle and mother-hood induced ADD.  I do okay with making things look under control on the surface.  But lately I can’t keep my mind off of how it would feel to have everything deep cleaned and organized.  I pray that some of this incessant dreaming can become reality.  It will take a miracle, but I am going to try to do my part.

Yesterday I had an unexpected trip to town to pick Dan up while he got the windshield replaced on the pickup.  We went to Tim Horton’s for coffee and with the winter sunshine streaming in the windows and the busyness of our small city happening around us, I realized again that the important goals of life are attainable for anyone, no matter what year we’re entering or living in or saying goodbye to. 

Like gratefulness.  It hits me when I pick a pineapple from the produce section.  Do you realize what a privilege that is?

And love.  The stuff that overwhelms me when I see a little purple polly pocket shoe on the floor of the car and think of the brown curls and brown eyes that go with the little person who dropped it.

And joy.  Because it’s a bright blue day and the sun is shining on white snow and there’s turkey soup for supper.

And friendship.  What’s better than meeting a neighbor in the produce section of the supermarket and chatting till you feel like you’re in someone’s way and need to move along?

So while life is complicated, it’s also so simple that I miss it sometimes.  My 2013 goals are brief:

1) To know God better.

2) To live simply.

3) To give more.

4) To expect less.

 These are the goals I want most to reach, even when the house is in shambles and life in general is just plain messy.

~Hope, love, and peace to you.