Gratitude (part III)

Well, I started this series with several posts in mind, but this is not exactly the post I originally thought it would be…

 

I used to love summer, it was my favourite time of year.  Now I dread it, with Bea’s birthday, and the reminder of her death a few weeks later.  Last year was miserable. I can’t not acknowledge these days or the pain in this season, but what does one do!?

This year, I have gotten to know some incredible people. Through working with University Christian Ministries, there are a couple of women that I’ve been discipling with more time and intention.  As the summer approached, I asked if they would be willing to plan a day for us to just hang out on Bea’s birthday.  (I felt like I was asking something too huge, but they actually got kind of excited about it.)

I also had a chance to go camping in Tofino on the anniversary of her death, and in between my brother and I planned an overnight hike on the Juan de Fuca trail (which I’ve been excitedly eyeing for a while, and even purchased a bit of gear for).

It made such a huge difference, through July – even though I knew that hard and sad days were coming, I also had some exciting things to look forward to.

The girls surprised me with a day exploring Denman Island.  It was amazing and SO much fun. They were kind, gracious, patient, and basically spent the day focused on caring for me. It was a really good gift. (Also, at the end of the day,  another friend initiated me into some local knowledge: strange sound effects with a strange story.)

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Then the hiking trip! It was stunningly beautiful, the weather was perfect, my brother is a really good hiking partner, and I was surprised & pleased that I was more capable than I’d thought.

117225673_864518014076122_4783244980999339285_n

 

The picture of me & the km marker was just after we had taken an I’m so-tired-I-think-I’ll-just-lay-down-for-a-bit break.  It meant we had done about 15 km, and just had 3 left until camp (less than we thought).  It was a victory-is-in-sight photo.

It was also a km or so before this happened:

 

 

 

 

 

117306683_328831094922766_5073932543582077076_n

Yuck.

 

And so I still went to Tofino [by the grace & forbearance of friends who set up my tent, took it down in the rain, opened things, and, well… all the tasks that require 2 hands (which is nearly all of the tasks)]. It was not quite the trip I had hoped for.

All of that said… I was so grateful my brother was with me when I broke my arm. He was calm & capable, which helped a lot. There were also people  who showed us the shortcut out (2 or 3 km with a broken arm was manageable, I’m not sure if 12 would have been). They took my pack, and then drove us to the car (who would’ve picked up hitch-hikers like us, in these times?)  I was grateful to know that we were headed to a hospital with competent doctors, and that I didn’t have to worry about how much it would cost.  And  I am grateful that I don’t need surgery as it seemed when I first went in.

And I’m still grateful that, even though all didn’t go as planned, instead of spending July just dreading the difficulty & pain of the coming days, I also had peace and a certain amount of anticipation at building new traditions.

118727142_815559515847486_5387591178523942295_n

(photo credits: Dhiya Joseph [1st batch], me, Samantha Dunbar [final photo])

Gratitude (Part I)

Ok, first – this series is out of order because I’ve been mentally working on it for a while, but have been busy this last month – and Part II was news I wanted to share as soon as I could.

The spring after Beatrix died, we made a long and winding trip. We started in Rwanda, went to Denmark, Scotland, Pennsylvania, and then worked our way from Truro, NS, to Calgary, AB. We mourned Beatrix with those who had known her well, and we visited YWAM bases across Canada on a journey that was healing for us & the people who we visited: many had witnessed &/or been deeply impacted by her death.

At each location I gathered a stone: a beach in Denmark, the Isle of Skye, from rivers I kayaked in Lancaster & Winnipeg, from several treasured family places that were generously shared with us, Lake Superior & Manitoulin Island,… you get the idea.

I had a plan for an altar of sorts, a physical reminder of that journey – that whenever we got to the end of that nomadic season, I would put them in a jar/vase. On top, I would add daily notes with things I am grateful for.

117160693_767365950685013_6538540433425905855_n

Well, I found a vase right away when we moved in. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it would work. I still needed the right kind of paper… (I really like having good pens and interesting stationery.) I looked a few times, but couldn’t find anything… so it just sat.

But at the beginning of March, I realized I had to just start, even if it’s not perfect. (Thanks, BCC application homework.)

What great timing. I doubt I’ve ever been in a season where I’ve needed  a regular gratitude practice more. It’s helped me so much through being isolated.

Even a quick glance reminds me of things I’ve already forgotten, but more: it’s a visual reminder of a few things that I find hard to put into words. God’s faithfulness. Our wide, deep, & strong community. The healing found in time spent at wild places. And that good things encounter me on a regular basis.

 

Gratitude (Part II)

As people connected to a number of missions projects, we are constantly aware of many incredible people and projects that have needs. (Beyond our own support raising and projects we are involved in, which we clearly think are the best and most important 😉 )

I don’t want to be that person who is constantly asking and constantly sharing needs.  But every once in a while something comes across our path that makes me think, “This needs to happen and I think some people in our community would like to be involved.”

Our friend and co-worker Uziel has been stuck in Japan since January, unable to get a ticket home.  The flight he had booked earlier in the month had been cancelled (with no refund), and he couldn’t find anything like a flight with a reasonable price or less than half a dozen layovers.  When he told me he had found a much simpler flight with fewer stops but didn’t have all the money – well, we sent some. I couldn’t shake the idea that there was more we could do, that I REALLY wanted to help see this happen, and that other peoples’ hearts might be moved in the same direction.

You guys! What incredible people you are.  I heard multiple versions of, “It’s time, we need to bring him home.”

It was such a privilege for us to be a part of administrating this small miracle.

It is also such a privilege to know you fine people, who hear of the difficulty of a person you’ve never met, and are moved to help.

Today, Uziel made it home.

He is grateful, and we are grateful.

e0f6ac352110478786589d3e20b0b49b.0

(jet-lag may make our eyes swollen 🙂 )

 

Stories that help me interpret

Sometimes I feel like Frodo at the end of The Return of the King, before he goes to the Grey Havens.  Do you know this part of the story?  It has always struck me as sad and beautiful, but now it just makes me weep because it is so real.

Most days, I go about as usual, (seeming?) fine.

And there are days when all around me seems dark, and I am acutely aware that some wounds never really heal.

line

(I’m going to interject at this point, that, unlike Frodo, I’m not attempting to hide it – I’ve been pretty vocal to the people around me that I’m flailing a bit, and they are amazing.)

line

divergentDivergent is a great story. The first book is really good, but the other two books in the trilogy are… just OK.

They’re worth it, though, for the epilogue.

It’s called, “We Can Be Mended,” and it is beautiful, raw, and true.

I think I’ve talked about this before – but today I’m re-reading this epilogue.

 

It’s reminding me of deeper truths than irreparable wounding.

And I’m carrying these characters and this story with me as I go through these days.

True, Beautiful & Funny: Pandemic Edition

This isn’t entirely pandemic focused, but do we not need truth, beauty, & humour more than ever in these strange days?

I know that grief has unexpectedly come up for many people recently, and I have opinions about that. One of them is that there are a lot of really bad ideas floating around our culture that have to do with grieving. We don’t have a good road map for how to do the work of grief well. So when we are faced with our own grief, we are vulnerable, exposed, faced with a really difficult work, AND we have no idea how to do it. Something that helped me navigate better was that I had recently walked part of that road with a good friend, and so had thought carefully about how to do grief well, and had observed her live through it with courage and wisdom.

Both of these books put beautiful words to some of the thoughts I had, as well as sparked some new thoughts. I won’t say that I wholeheartedly endorse everything that is said, but these 2 books are some of the best and most helpful I’ve encountered. (And the way Prechtel talks about grief, praise, & love is beautiful.)

I’m going to highlight a few ideas that struck me – but seriously, go sift through these books yourself.  It will be good for your soul.

One concept that both these books engage is ritual. A typical western funeral is a poor excuse for a grief ritual. Have you ever been to a graveside service where everyone walked away, and the casket was just hanging there, unlowered?  It has left me feeling somewhat unsettled. As I’ve contemplated it, I think its because it is indicative of our denial; our inability to face the reality of death. (Know that I’m not pointing fingers at anyone specific, just observing a general phenomenon.)

 

Another concept was having a companion to witness & support you in your grief. It is difficult to be that vulnerable when other people are there. It is also difficult to just witness someone’s grief and not try to say anything, or do anything to fix it. However, simply offering our presence to one another, especially at these times, can be so healing. (I know many of us are probably recognizing the value of presence in a whole new way at the moment.) We had the incredible gift of people who were able to just sit with us in our grief, and somehow ease our pain. Sometimes it was actual presence, and sometimes it was an email or a gift that came with no expectations. I’m so grateful, and I want to keep learning how to be present to others in their griefs.

The last idea I’m going to draw out today is that we can have grief for larger issues: grief over climate change, political situations,… pandemics. This is something I have known, have felt, for a long time. Being in a deep season of grief for Beatrix gave me the space to grieve some of the larger issues that have weighed on my soul for years. (Seriously, I wept all the way through a book about politics, indigenous issues, climate change, & hope… It’s not the kind of book that the average person would weep while reading.) I’m still working on how to talk about some of this – but having someone else put it into words helped me see the importance of it in a new way.cooked

I also want to talk about Michael Pollan.  Given how much I love food, I am a little confused as to how it has taken me so long to read anything by him. I picked up Cooked last fall because it was on display at the library. I love the way he thinks about food – and given that so many of us are doing more of our own cooking these days, his thoughts seem even more relevant.

Have you watched Brené Brown’s Netflix special?! I’ve talked about her work before, and if you haven’t already encountered her work, this might be a good introduction. Here’s the trailer:

 

If you have somehow missed John Krasinski’s Some Good News, there are 3 episodes now, and they have brought me a lot of joy.

 

And just because we desperately need humour to help us interpret what is happening. I’m sure we all have our favourite memes, depending on what situation we are in. Here are a few I like:

meme2meme1essential3essential2

Something that has grieved me deeply over the last few years is how deeply polarized we are. But I’ve seen something beautiful happening over the last few weeks: this has shifted, at least a little. We are recognizing in a new way that we need each other; that our actions affect each other. One person is struggling because their work is suddenly way more crucial, and they are working more hours (and with more danger & protocols) than ever. Another is struggling because all they have to do is stay home…  But I see these groups supporting each other, and not minimizing the value and difficulty of someone in a different situation. That brings me hope.

Email Update

Hello! I know some of you are here that aren’t on Facebook, so I thought this might be a better way to reach you.

I’ve been working since September to put together a paper newsletter to send out.  About a week ago we wrapped up a really busy season, and my goal for this week was to finish the newsletter, get it printed and mailed by next week.

Given current circumstances, a paper newsletter no longer seems like a great idea.  I have some time on my hands this week to finish writing & editing, and I’m guessing at least some of you have some extra time to read. (Although some of you might be busier than ever. Thank you.)  So I am going to do a series of email newsletters.

These will be different than what I usually do here on the blog, less of my thoughts & reflections and more of a report on the what/why/how of our work. I’m going to try to give some background of how we got to where we are now & what we have been working on in the last year.

If you want to receive these emails over the next little while (and future email updates), please send me your email address.

(Or, if the technology works, a request for it will pop up if you scroll to the bottom of the page)

(Edit… it seems to work, but sorry about all the ads. I’ll think about upgrading what I pay to get rid of those for you guys.)

Grief Observed

One of the beautiful things this week has been watching people I love share themselves online, in ways that are brave and vulnerable. Their words, songs, etc, have been an encouragement and a balm to my soul. I’m going to join in.

It means I’m about to do two things I don’t usually do here. The first is share something this fresh and raw, and the second is get a little preach-y. (You’ve been warned. 😉 )

(Here’s the playlist that goes with this morning.)

Every morning I walk and pray. I’m not quite sure how to describe what happens in this time – but sometimes, things come up in my soul that God is going to speak to. (Later in the day, later in the week, through circumstances, through others,…) Any wholeness and joy that I have experienced particularly in the last few years usually traces back to these times.

It’s not the norm, these days, but this morning, I am grieving.

A friend who has been battling cancer is dying. (Actually, he’s not really my friend, but several of his family members are dear to me.) He’s young, he has 4 kids, a beautiful wife, and has spent his life serving others. My heart aches for his family as they sit with him in what is likely his final days.

I accidentally fell in love with a couple of people.  They were (are) unexpectedly amazing: funny, insightful, considerate, generous, servant-hearted, and just the right amount of strange. They departed earlier than expected last weekend for a flatter place, and I miss them already.

And I miss Beatrix. I was recalling some of my favourite moments with her. These memories bring me great joy, and also sadness at how they are so much fewer than they should have been.

I got home from my walk to a text from my dad, saying “Beatrix would have loved this: ‘Wash hands?’  ”       (She really did love to wash her hands.)

So I’m waiting. I’m letting this rise to the surface, with every confidence that God has something to say to this.

The last few months Mike and I have been doing a course, and today our final project is due. I’m finishing up my paper, that looks at some of the final bits of the Bible.

Now – the book of Revelation is somewhat intimidating and strange, I’ll admit. But the final chapters show the heart and intention of God. They show the reason for my hope:

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”    And He who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”

It’s all so beautiful. So as I’m sitting with my pain this morning, but with the full confidence that, as He always has, my God will meet me here.

Trip!

Sorry I left you hanging a bit after my last post.  The fog of jetlag gave way to the next thing, and then I was exhausted.

Part of why I have struggled to write about it, is that it was SO. GOOD.  I try to be aware of short attention spans, and I am unsure how to be succinct.  Or which parts are most important.

If you got here in time, you know where I was.  If not, I’m erring on the cautious side due to security concerns and saying, “Central Asia.”  Our teams were connected with some really great contacts!  In the city, the team connected with people through various established ministry events.  One is Coffee Zone.  There are different activities, but it is mainly a place for students to connect, learn some English, and hear just a little bit about the Gospel.  (For example, the week I was there, one of our DTS students shared about forgiveness.)  Those who are interested in hearing more pursue leaders, other Christians, and in this case, our team.  Out of larger gatherings like this, the team connected with different individuals to share their stories, encourage, and pray with them.

The team in the village had a different scenario, with less well-established ministry.  They worked with a local pastor, who connected them to people in the community: some of whom he is discipling, and some who have expressed interest in hearing more about God.  They also were able to fill a few needs teaching English at a local library and a local school.  It was lots of connecting with people, listening, and telling stories.

My job was to see how the teams were doing, address any issues, and meet with each person individually.  I drank lots of coffee to help with the drastic time change as I listened, encouraged, and challenged.  I knew going into it that I didn’t have quite the relational collateral with some of the people that Livé would have had, but I prepared well for each conversation, and worked to issue my challenges with gentleness and kindness.  (Those of you who have known me for any amount of time know this is not a natural strength.)

It felt good.  It was one of the first times in a very long time I have stepped out into any kind of ministry without a significant safety net.  And I didn’t feel concerned or anxious.  I felt capable, and invigorated by doing work that I love.

A couple photo highlights:

d90b4cdf8e967668fd3f37b4cc02e895.0

I got to go horseback riding with one of the teams! This horse had spirit!

041b061c68a9b4d3b1efc79aa772ffa5.0

Our host put on a whole-sheep feast meal with the team while I was there.  As the oldest guest but the grandfather, I received one of the largest, most-honoured portions.  Delicious. I’ll confess, I was thankful to learn that it wasn’t expected that I would finish it.

And finally, what I am calling the “cherry on top:”  Some old friends arrived  the day before I flew back to Canada.  There has been a long rift.  I have no words to say how good it is for my heart to have that begun to be healed and to see them flourishing in their work.

 

I’m going to central Asia!

 

I know, it comes as a surprise to me, too!  It has all happened rather suddenly.

Mike and I see our main role here as supportive.  As I talked about in the previous post, that means stepping in where there is a gap we can fill.

In October, we sent 2 DTS teams over to central Asia for their outreach.  (There are updates on their activities on the YWAM Nanaimo website if you are interested.)  Usually when we send out a team like this, the leader of the school or another experienced staff member will visit them on the field to encourage and provide pastoral care.  Because this is the first team sent out from YWAM Nanaimo, and the first team sent from here to central Asia, and because several of the leaders are leading their first teams, this pastoral visit is particularly important.

Our base leader, Livé, who also lead the DTS, was planning to do this visit.  A couple weeks ago, they welcomed a new baby girl into their family.  There have been some stresses and complications with her health, and so it became unrealistic for him to do this.  So I am stepping in as a pinch-hitter!

I leave Wednesday morning, and will be gone for a little over a week.  I am really looking forward to seeing the teams, and this unexpected opportunity to participate in outreach around the world!

 

Harbor Fellowship

As I was writing the previous blog post, I was trying to find a link back to explain what it was we were actually doing in Pennsylvania last year, and couldn’t find one.  I guess that explains some of the conversations I have had, where I was confused when people didn’t seem to know.

I always struggle to describe most of the actual work that I do: it looks like sitting at a computer, or having coffee, or running projector slides…  It is the work of being present and helping people figure out what it is they are called to do in the world, and then how to go about that.

It rarely makes a good picture, to say the least.

Our friends in Pennsylvania are incredible people.  For years, they have had a growing vision to launch a church.  Not just another place for people to gather on Sundays, but a deep community of people who are encountering God, growing, loving each other, and taking their gifts out into the world in a whole variety of ways.

A project like this takes years of patiently laying groundwork, which our friends have been doing diligently.  They have practiced patience, perseverance, wisdom, and plain hard work.  When we arrived last August, it became evident that we were stepping in to play a short-term role in a much longer and larger process.

The launch of any project is when all of the groundwork suddenly becomes visible, and often involves problem solving in the midst of a flurry of activity.  There are a torrent of details that remain minor if dealt with well.  It is a time of setting precedents for what a community will become.

So our daily activities looked like chauffeuring, cooking, coffee-ing, praying, and setting up chairs.  On a more important level (in the midst of our own healing and restoration) we were contending for our friends’ calling, and working alongside them to see this community launched well.

Most of the time our work is quiet incremental, and doesn’t look like much – certainly not immediately.  But we were seen and appreciated by this community as we served them.  It was  an honour to be able to return to Harbor last month.  It was quickly apparent that individuals and the community have  grown since we left.  It was deeply gratifying to know that we have played a part in that, and to spend some time encouraging that growth, and planting some new seeds.  (Described by one as, “Amanda going around and telling everyone what to do,” which I think is a bit strong, but I guess the nickname “Demanda” is funny for a reason.)  Because I spent the time last year, I was able to say things, both encouraging and challenging, in ways that were more likely to be heard.  (Although I do need to be a little careful – I’ve been hanging out a lot with people 15 years younger than me, which has been making me feel much older and wiser than I actually am. 😉 )

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

-Margaret Mead

It looks like having coffee…  but I’m changing the world.