We just got back from a trip that included sunny times in Merrit, B.C., with only a few patches of snow left. It included Oregon in its spring lusciousness, the huge waters of the Pacific, and balmy weather in Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho.
(photo credits for above photos to my niece Kristi Smucker)
We left the sandy soils and returned to Alberta muck.
We left the soul-filling green of Oregon and came back to our brown and white landscape.
And even though I love the people in our northern community very much-
and even though the wide Alberta sky fills my heart in a way that only IT can-
and even though I think I would wither away if I lived in Pennsylvania or Ohio-
there are times when I hate where I live.
Somehow it seems like life fell down around us since we’re home.
I drive to school and can see only trash that the snow hid all winter. (Surely, surely well-mannered Canadians don’t throw garbage around like that!) In the wide thawing ditches, skeletons of hapless deer float and the ravens feast on them. Water came into our carpeted basement as the rush of spring run-off came down our hill before we got the annual ditching done. The washer is leaking and the dryer is slow. Dan has a new set picked out for us, but finding the time to get the deal finalized hasn’t happened. The lane is so muddy that we have to have Bible study at the church instead of at our house. The straw bale house that the dogs lived in all winter is all over the lawn and the veranda. It blows in when the front door opens. It sticks happily to the rug. I am solely responsible to cook for this family that is constantly hungry. My house needs to be deep cleaned and painted. The hockey stuff comes back from its winter at school and there’s no place in the messy garage to put it. The 1st grader is behind in her lessons because we were on vacation. I am harping at all of my dear ones to practice their piano. We have a revival meeting weekend planned in several weeks. Will the mud be gone by then? There is snow and rain in the forecast. Our dugout water looks extra brown and I scrub bitterly at my stained tub. And the smell of a small feedlot and a large herd of cattle’s stomping grounds melting in the spring sunshine is indescribable. Not to mention the boots and coats that come in when the 10 year old falls in the manure when helping his dad with the gates. Somehow all three of our computers have issues right now. And the email box is full, which involves tedious time on a slow laptop deleting old mail.
I struggle with my light and momentary afflictions.
The eternal weight of glory that they’re working in me feels pretty hazy.
I remember plum trees in bloom. I covet the hydrangeas Dan & I picked out for the tables at the wedding rehearsal supper. The wedding was in Oregon, where daffodils grew like weeds and the children ran barefoot in the chilly air and gave me a fresh bouquet every time I turned around.
I remember good food that I didn’t have to cook. And old friendships renewed. I remember friendly new faces. I remember sand, so much easier to clean up than Alberta’s clay gumbo. I remember beautiful music sung by a youth group at the wedding we attended.
I remember feeling so in love with Dan as I walked up the aisle towards him as a bridesmaid at the sweet, old-fashioned wedding of his brother from Wisconsin to a girl from Oregon. It’s such a happy story. Dan’s brother is 42 and his little bride is 39. They are both gentle, reserved people, delighted now in each other.
(No pictures of the wedding posted because none of the ones I had were good. Maybe later if I can borrow some good ones.)
I remember stolen kisses in the moonlight down by the water–and a beach house with a big yellow room all to ourselves, the children off playing and sleeping with cousins. I remember the peace of the ocean. And clear, clear water to wash clothes in and bathe in.
My heart is deeply entwined with the north and its people. But as we drive the miles that separate us from warmer climates and more diverse friendships and well water and sandy soil and blackberry bushes and churches similar to ours, there is usually a mind struggle happening. Will I fight the mud forever? Will our children grow up okay with such a small youth group? What would it be like to live where rhododendrons bloom? What opportunities for ministry might we be missing because we live in a less-populated place?
Like Ma Ingalls, I know that there’s no perfect place in this world.
Days on the Oregon coast are often stormy, grey, and windy. The green grass comes from a winter of constant rain. And in the south where all is gorgeousness in March, the heat of August saps away your strength.
The lack of perfection keeps us longing for something better, something eternal that never fades away.
I’d like life all neat and clean and tailor-ordered to my needs and the needs of my family. I bask in the luxury that can be bought outside of our little home here on the ridge. But I hate narrowness and complacency. I would feel guilty living the constant high life. And I know that the trying of our patience works beauty.
So I’m going to look above the muddy window. I’ll joy in my little tomato plants and plant some pink blush lavatera. I’ll remember again that blessing others is what it’s all about. I’ll cuddle my newest grand-niece and cook something nice for supper. I’ll sigh in wonder at yet another Alberta sunset. I’ll call my neighbor just to say hi. And I’ll smile at memories of time away with old and new friends. I will choose not to “put the resurrection away for the year, but to commit to reminding myself of its rescue and hope morning after morning after morning.” –Paul Tripp
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For my birthday, Dan paid for a watercolor class with my friend Angela. It starts tonight. I am excited.
One highlight of our trip was Starbucks with Esther_lynn. I am so sad that we didn’t get a picture together. Our friendship goes way back, but we hadn’t seen each other for something like 16 or 18 years. She hasn’t changed a bit, even though she’s now the mom of a lovely family. It was also fun to meet smart and interesting VirginiaDawn for the first time and see smiley Cheryl (#DCKLDBW), who has no grey hair like the rest of us do. 
I hope this post doesn’t sound too whiny. Somehow when I put the ugly into words it looks smaller and more ridiculous.
I also hope that I don’t come across like we are more righteous and less complacent because we don’t live in Oregon or Ohio. God uses us wherever we are.
Sometimes this blog gets lots of views and I wonder who is reading it. Thanks for visiting here.
Whenever I decide to stop doing facebook I feel free like a bird, even though I miss it. I just have so little self-control with that network and sometimes a long break helps me get it back into perspective. 
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