The Light of Your Face

My dad is a sucker for gadgets.

He once bought me a bagel slicer, and at its presentation I said,

"But I already have one!"

"You do?" he replied, surprised.

"Yes!" and I pulled out a steak knife from the drawer.

...

He also had this flashlight (let's not get into his obsession with flashlights...) that was attached to an elastic band so that you would wear it around your head, and like a miner, you could have hands-free illumination wherever you point your face. He got me one once, cause no one should be without this little gem, right?

And it can be helpful, especially since I have no light of my own.

My face emanates no brilliance or splendor.

But God does. He doesn't need a headlamp.

All I need is his gaze upon me to illuminate me.

Simply directing his face to me will give me light.

God, You see me. Shine upon my darkness and give me light!

May I reflect it out into the world!

Sustainability: Suffering

This has become quite a buzzword of late, in discussion of environmentalism, economics, you name it.

In my ongoing endeavor to quantify my emotions and perceived "needs" I was mulling over the idea of sustainability as it relates to suffering.

We've all heard stories of people lifting a car off of a trapped person, or other miraculous and normally impossible feats when emergency need arose. They were able to endure, survive and accomplish something normally impossible - but not for a prolonged period of time. They had to lift it and get the job done in a serious hurry, cause they certainly weren't carrying it around like that while they shop for groceries or try on several pairs of shoes.

But of course we all endure any number of stresses on a daily basis, for years and years. Some of those may make themselves mainstays for the majority of your life.

So different stresses have varying levels of sustainability.

Some are, some simply aren't.

And different people have different levels of strength.

So how do we determine what is sustainable for us?

Some things, like carrying cars, we are physically unable to do for a long time, so clearly it is unsustainable. Other things we may be able do for a long time and still survive, but it would be unhealthy to do them: smoking, doing drugs and eating junk food for physical examples. Many people do one or all of these for years without dying. But that doesn't mean that they are good to do and cultivate in your life.

What about emotional stresses like abusive relationships, energy draining jobs, unhealthy social boundaries, loneliness, etc?

Most of these have a fairly subjective assessment of stress level and are not conveniently quantifiable so as to render the answers clear. Most of the time we decide what we consider sustainable for ourselves and build our own arbitrary boundaries to enforce those decisions. The apparently random times that one person says "I can't ____" and the next person presses through the unthinkable can be befuddling.

Myself and another mom friend of mine (who has also been dealing with health issues) have regularly come to a place of Redefining Can't. It's become a buzz-phrase for us.

9.75 times out of 10, oh yes you can, like it or not!

When you say, "I need a break," from a task, stress, situation, person, you are deciding that boundary. Maybe you could take a lot more. Maybe you think you can't. Usually you can, but should you? I have no idea. Often it seems that break can be life saving. Sometimes pressing through is invaluable for building character. Sometimes pressing through only hurts yourself and others involved. Oh for a clear outline to know when to say when!

I have seen this in other's lives, where a situation in their life that was unsustainable (in the "I can't bear this" sense, not the I-will-die-without-water sense), eventually exploded quite messily, after they had toughed it out for longer than most would expect. In the end, they acted very uncharacteristically to satisfy these felt needs that they had denied for too long, apparently.

I want to avoid this, but I also don't want to be indulgent while using this 'fear' for an excuse.

I want to have healthy sustainable boundaries, that are willing and happily ready to be sacrificial when it is appropriate and right, and doesn't make a martyr of one's self unnecessarily.

God, give light to my path, and give me a good strong fence within to play and live!

Die Princess

I wish more mothers of young daughters these days would read and agree with these 2 articles.

Click em!

Princess culture producing overspending narcissists

Harms of commercialized childhood - Princess edition

One of the many industries I would love to see go bankrupt.

Snuggly Cement

City Mouse failed to say anything about her first trip home in 7 1/2 years.

It was nuts. It was soooo good. It was therapy.

I couldn't believe how it made me cry like crazy, even taking the highway exit that led to my childhood home, seeing all the landmarks, parks, businesses that I remember, familiar signs, familiar homes, fences, schools, cracks in the road that I remember from 20 yrs ago.

Every thing is familiar.

I fit in! A trippy experience after 12 years of being a Martian. (total years in Canada - 4 in Toronto, 8 in Nova Scotia) I was driving on the highway, with this strange sensation in my chest, thinking, "I feel like me again." I forgot what this felt like. I loved it. It was like going back in time. I felt lighter, freer, smilier, bouncier, at peace.

I realize now, all these images form the backdrop for all my childhood memories. For all the people, interactions, and happenings I remember, this was the background. They are so inextricably linked with the comforts, the things nearest and dearest to me, simple pleasures of that time of innocence and foundation for all that I am now. A crumbling brick wall that hasn't been fixed since I was 10 brought tears to my eyes, it and so many million other little things like it just brought back a flood of memories and feelings.

It was intense. I loved it. I miss it very much. I am a fish out of water here, but hey.

I took Anna with me, left Niamh at home with Daddy. She was Daddy's girl anyway, but this 10 day one-on-one sealed the deal! They bonded over their common passion, tractors.

But oh my, I think I have a city girl on my hands in the eldest! Anna LOVED it. She loved the Plaza. Loved the fountains, stores, sidewalks. She was like an aboriginal taken from the middle of the Serengeti or something and dropped in downtown Hong Kong. A little culture shock. She looked down at the sidewalk and exclaimed with big eyes, "WOW! What is that?!? It's so cool! You don't get muddy!"

I know. Amazing, eh? It was the invention of the wheel as far as she was concerned.

Anna took this beauty, capturing the lilies and mint my mom cultivated outside the house in which I grew up. Still there and giving joy to the observer! I hope the people of the house and neighborhood weren't too freaked out by my photos and videotaping. I'm fairly confident the police must have gotten a phone call or 2 about this strange entourage spending a little too much time walking back and forth on the street, staring at random houses for no apparent reason.

My little fashionista loving a Plaza fountain.

I think my dad took this one of me in the antique district by my old neighbourhood. I spent many's the day riding my bike and taking walks with mom up and down these streets.

Think the sweater and boots look too warm? It was a couple months ago, don't worry. We were still chilly. Of course Anna wasn't, because she is a Canadian polar bear. One chilly evening at a public playground, another family had bulging eyes seeing Anna running and playing in pure bliss wearing a tank top while their son had on a puffy winter coat. Anna kept insisting, "I'm fine! I don't want my jacket!" Hilarious.

"She's Canadian," I leaned over and assured them.

Knowing nods followed.

There were many tears as we boarded the plane to come home, and they weren't mine.

Anna didn't want to leave. She sobbed on my lap saying, "I wish this was the first day we got here again and we were just getting here!"

I know Baby, believe me.

Don't Judge a Weed by Its Leaf

Say hello to my Million Bloom Plant.

That is actually what it's called, and the name is pretty accurate.

It was a gift from a sweet friend at church.

I love it, it's beautiful, except that at first I spent so much time dead-heading it, my family went hungry. It behaves more or less like a petunia, so I thought it required dead-heading to re-bloom, but reading up a little to do this blog post I found out it doesn't. Oh well. Forgo the housekeeper I guess. Back to the kitchen with me.

However, it doesn't seem to be rooted deeply. Get a little overzealous in your dead-heading and you'll unintentionally yank out the whole stem. It's quite easy actually.

I was thinking about what a show this plant puts on. It blooms constantly for months, from May til hard frost. In a warm climate it can even be perennial.

Then I thought about some of my experiences weeding in the garden. Talk about roots! Anyone who has ever gotten their hands even a little dirty in a garden knows of what I speak. I have been baffled and amazed at how a little leafy scruff can have a root that seems to burrow under the ground a mile like the Toronto PATH or something. You pull... and pull... and pull some more, and a root you never imagined judging by the look of it comes out, certainly a lot more than there had been leafy display.

It's the flora equivalent of an iceberg.

And I think about how so many Christians are like that. There is a big display, loud Amens, big Bible, membership in all the right groups, participation in all the meetings, a presentation of enthusiasm, but no hidden life in Christ: no deep roots, no grounding, no prayer life when nobody is watching, no hunger that drives us into the Word even when distractions try to draw us away, no loving the unlovely.

Everything is above ground and pretty.

But a flood and a strong wind will uproot the one that doesn't go deep.

A little minor pruning could prove to be the ruination of the shallow-rooted one. He can't bear up under it. Instead of bettering, it destroys him. He spends all his energy and nutrients he gathers on constantly producing more shows.

The weed was spending his energy on cultivating those long roots, and propagating. His appearance may be humble (yet still beautiful in my estimation), but that wasn't his priority. Therefore he has a poor reputation among those who cultivate showy gardens.

He is shunned and cast out.

While he may not have the colors or the flashy display of the other, he is sturdy, he does have his own grace, he'll be back next year, and he will spread. Those expansive roots will make more plants, also sturdy and deep rooted. In winter, he will rest and endure, he will do without and survive, and as soon as there is an inkling of sun and heat again, he will be back. He didn't die in the season of difficulty, though he mightn't have liked it. He quietly waited for the Spring. He stored up and was rarin' to go as soon as the opportunity presented itself, as soon as conditions were conducive.

As the song says, "Ya gotta go down, if you wanna go up.

You gotta go lower, if you want to go higher and higher.

You gotta hide and do it in secret, if you want to be seen by God.

Cause it's the inside outside upside down kingdom,

where you lose to gain,

and you die to live."

Life Lessons at the Beach

We went as a family today to the beach. I love to collect beach glass, and you can see a glimpse of my collection in the background, filling the base for my bamboo. In my hand is what I found just today.

While others swim, tan, dig, or build, I'm on a treasure hunt for beach glass.

When we arrived at the beach, we searched and settled on our spot, put down our things, and began the beachy festivities. Children ran for the water and began constructing sandcastles. I roamed. Far and wide I scanned, back and forth, digging, perusing, searching, collecting. I didn't even begin to look around where we laid our things. I immediately left to walk and look elsewhere. I found some, but not much, and they were pretty small. I came across one or 2 larger ones, but disappointing in general.

But then to my surprise, when we came back to our base to dry off, dress, and prepare to leave, I found one... and another... and another... and another! Such an amazing concentration, and of greater size than others I had found all day elsewhere while I worked hard at looking.

Then as we walked to the car, 3 more were effortlessly at my feet as I was simply making my way, leaving the beach.

Life lessons. There were abundant treasures to be had right in my own nest. The things I was seeking were not far away - they were right beneath me. I needn't stray nor strain, but take the steps I would naturally take, without worry, and explore and not dismiss what already surrounded me. A little Taoism, a little Ecclesiastes, the theme remains.

Contentment. Finding, seeing, embracing the beauty in what you've been given and what and whom surrounds you; not breeding contempt in familiarity, but loving the common, the simple, the imperfect.

You might be surprised at what you find.

I was.

You Are What You Eat, part 2

I'm really not doing great at keeping continuity in a series, since part 1 of YAWYE was way back here in April'09, and not even well-written. But hey. I'm under no contractual obligations here. That's the beauty part.

SO. This is what I want to say to the world today.

Let's say you are going to build yourself a house to live in. All I give you for building materials is pudding cups; the little plastic individual serving ones covered in a little sealed foil.

So you build a house out of them, somehow. Then someone drives by as they inevitably will and the gust of wind knocks down a wall, de-stabilizing the roof and collapsing the entire structure. You rebuild, cause you have confidence in your method as I assured you these were reliable and safe. Surely it is a fluke that it didn't work last time. It rains. You are soaking wet and freezing cold as pudding cups afforded you no protection and were nothing even close to water-tight.

And on and on the story would go.

When you eat, you are giving your body the cellular tools with which to build itself. Eat garbage, and you give your body no option but to construct itself - your very organs, nerves, muscles, bones, brain, hair, eyes - out of garbage. The cells cannot be as strong, resilient or effective against the storms of life (bacterial, viral, genetic, toxic, etc.) as they could have been, built out of better ingredients.

Every cell in your body has a limited lifespan and, when it dies, will be replaced. Based on this process and rate of cellular replacement, you will have what more or less amounts to an entirely new body, bones included, over the course of 10 years (cells other than bones take approx. 7 years).

Why do we not regenerate to be newer and nicer over time then? Mistreatment, conscious or not, accelerates degeneration, and weaker, damaged cells constitute the replacements. Any and all mistreatment of our body contributes to the damage and oxidation, including smoking, drinking, environmental pollutants and toxins, dietary toxins, dehydration, insufficient sleep or sleep of compromised quality, emotional and physical stress, insufficient nutrition, insufficient exercise and oxygenation and certainly more.

Building stronger cells, I argue, is like building your house out of stone or brick. A strong wind of virus is less likely to level your house. A rain of nerve malfunction can be kept at bay. A landslide of cell mutation may be resisted, overcome and corrected.

A house of pudding cups is powerless against such onslaughts.

Degeneration will happen whether you like it or not, whether you live perfectly or not. We are mortal. But we can help or hurt matters tremendously. May I plead with you to build yourself out of worthy materials! Those french fries or hot dogs will be with you longer than you thought, and not only on your belly! They may be supplying the materials for the liver your body is currently working on, or brain, or heart! Those of us with children, may we take seriously the influence we have in establishing eating habits, and supplying the fuel and building blocks of our children's bodies.

Know that I preach to myself as well, lest this sound accusatory.

I say this for your blessing, not your cursing!

Be well, and do the good you know to do. Today.

Transparency

The introduction of blogging, facebook, myspace, twitter, etc. to my world presented me with a challenge. Everyone I know - family, neighbours, church friends, grade school friends, high school friends, university friends, musician friends, in-laws - from every subset of my life, were all converging in one location. There was a bit of an identity traffic jam, with maybe a few fender benders, and some unanticipated social juggling. I found I had to decide who I am, and it had to be through and through, the same to everybody. This may make it sound as if I lived the life of a total hypocrite prior, presenting different Jenni's to everyone. In a way I did. Mind you, it's not like I went out clubbing and smoking up with one group and leading prayer groups with another. My morals didn't change from one group to another, but language certainly did (no ghetto accents with in-laws, for example, or Christianese with fiddle cohorts) and the content of conversation differed vastly.

But when my blog could be potentially read by any of the above, and when facebook status updates are read by all of the above, it brought a level of transparency I hadn't ever had among my subsets. If I am excited about God, and had an awesome prayer or worship session and am busting with enthusiasm about it that overflows into a blog or status, I would formerly have chosen a smaller friend group of Christians with which to talk about it.

But now, everybody sees it.

I may have reserved my discussion on amaranth or hydrogenated oils for the few health nuts I know, instead of opening it to a broader audience.

The fiddle people, who may have vaguely known I was not Hindu, now see, 'whoa, she's really into this God thing', and possibly even 'she really likes to go eat pancakes' *. The church people are now hearing random references to Arthur Muise, about whom they haven't a clue. (A great fiddle player, by the way.)

So I had to make some decisions. What do I believe in? What am I prepared to represent?

Am I willing to own it in front of anyone?

Am I willing to be scandalous to one group while identifying with another?

There were lots of people I didn't hide my faith from, but I didn't advertise it either.

Now it's ALL out there! No secrets! I had lots of trepidation at first.

I struggled with, "What can I say that is neutral enough for every audience?"

And then I gave up. There is very little editing these days.

The whole Jenni : the Bride of Christ, the fiddle player, the MS patient, the mommy, the Irish speaker, quinoa & amaranth-eater, is all open to the public.

I have been deleted from some people's friend lists for being too Jesus freaky. That's fine. I believe there are even verses of blessing that might apply to that.

But for this development, for the acquisition of a more fearless approach to life, that doesn't change me to suit the viewer (only in so much as is actually appropriate and culturally considerate maintaining kindness in interaction), that is more real about who I am, what I believe, where I stand in the universe and on eternal matters of the soul:

For this, Internet, and often-sketchy social-networking sites, I thank you.

*"go eat pancakes" is a reference to the common misunderstanding of my reference to something called IHOP- more commonly known as the International House of Pancakes, but when I say it, is referring to the International House of Prayer.

I'm not that into pancakes, for the record.

The Generation Gap widens

I am feeling age creeping in. It is a little weird sometimes.

The generation gap is widening.

I say and do things I associate with my parents and even grandparents, with frequency.

At Christmas this past year, I found myself with an uncharacteristic desire for cheesey holiday clothing and/or jewelry. What's happening to me???

I am mostly unaware of, and even fearful of many new technologies. I don't know how to use them, nor do I often even understand their purpose. We have had an ipod for a couple years. I've never used it. I don't know how to turn it on.

Did I just say that?

I do own a jump drive now, however, and have used it... once...

I am getting more moles and freckles. What is up with that?

My makeup has much more of a purpose now. Concealer has become a near and dear friend.

I am concerned about my bedtime, and consider 9pm a perfectly reasonable and sensible bedtime, and 5am a common time to start the day, not end it.

I don't understand a goodly portion of what the young people are saying these days. The slang is beyond me. I have given up on it. After approx 3 wildly failed attempts that ended in public shaming, (in particular, one time when I described myself as a SAHM, which I understood to mean stay-at-home-mom, but I was shocked when I was informed that Urban Dictionary by the way, ahem, says that means sexy and hot Mama. This was not what I was going for in my public self-description.) I am resigning myself to datedness and old faithfuls, like 'you go girl' and the simple and universal adjective, "Cool!" in place of other confusing misnomer synonyms like sick, gross, wicked, bad etc. Is diseased the next description of something really desirable and attractive? How about loathesome? malicious? painful? heinous? odious?

"Wow! Where did you get those shoes?!?! They are nauseating!"

Would that give a new twist to that little catch phrase about "throwing up a little in my mouth just now"? Would that then be a good thing? Something was SO amazingly nauseating, you actually threw up in your mouth a little. I'm happy for you.

Super. Sounds like we're on a good road here, folks. Definitely want to keep on it! See where it takes us!

Not me, however. But you go right on ahead. However, if I give you gifts that you don't like, I really can't be blamed, because the last time you saw it and said you didn't like it, I misunderstood that you DID in fact like it.

This reminds me of a Scripture passage, however. Isaiah 5:20 says, "Woe to those who call evil good and good evil..." I think of that verse every time I hear these opposite-day adjectives.

I don't have a sweet clue what music is trendy anymore. Most of my favorite musicians are no longer living. And I don't mean Kurt Cobain. Much more obscure usually, many never did a professional recording.

When I go to the store with the humorous idea to buy clothing, I hold items up in the air with a confused, furrowed brow, unsure of even how they are to be applied to my body, let alone how to coordinate them with other things. It looks like a drape of fabric to me that I would have as much luck with as a sari. What happened to holes for your head and arms that were pretty self-evident and needed no explanation? While I love the creativity and variety, I miss understanding what I'm looking at sometimes.

Other clothing and styles that I wore in grade school are back in again. I've been around long enough to see the cycle.

*sigh* I need a young person to adopt me and give me little masterclasses to keep me at least partially in the loop. My five-year-old and mother-in-law are failing.

Another sign of true aging: I don't care that I'm out of the loop! Be gone, Oh Loop! I'm more and more ok with nerdiness.