The Year of New

Following a year of change (mostly external and much unpleasant), I chose that 2023 would be a year of NEW! New things and experiences that I would have control over, that would be intentionally chosen, that would stretch me beyond my comfort zone.

They did! Some were big, some small; some I will (and have!) repeated, others won’t happen again. All, however, gave me the chance to breach existing patterns, and to be open to the possibility of new joy. In most, they involved sharing time with people I care about (and who care about me); there was laughter, there was prayer, there was adventure.

Doing new things allows us to explore avenues that we just haven’t traversed before: our curiosities are awakened, our vulnerability exposed, our courage evident. It’s fun, in middle-age, to consider new opportunities to find joy – often making those explorations with the eagerness of a child.
It was a fun year! A lot happened. Here’s some highlights:

January: New Year’s Day Polar Dip in the Atlantic Ocean. Bloody cold, but we laughed our way to warmth!! I’m glad I did it, but I’m not likely to do it again.
February: I tried a new craft – origami. I’m not good at it! But the experience gave me pause to reflect on those who create thousands of cranes – what a practice of patience and focus!
March: a season of renewal. I forced open a door that I feared 2022 had shut; and received the miracle of re-invigoration.
April: A new game! At our weekly games night, we played a DnD Pathfinder Quest. A new game, new character, much laughter!
May: I submitted a piece of poetry to a writing contest. It was a piece I’d begun in 2011, and I edited and submitted it. All of my other writings are non-fiction, so this was well outside the box for me. (I wasn’t chosen, but that wasn’t the point!)
June: New engagement with a piece of scripture, thanks to a dear friend, which inspired dramatic positive action. A passage I’ve overlooked before is now inscribed on art in my room, to remember daily.
July: Kayaking on a lake. Really! I’ve canoed lots, but kayaking is very different. (It doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was a formidable evening, and lots of prayerful reflection came of it.)
August: New culinary experience - Bubble Tea! A new adventure with a friend – oh my goodness the sugar. Yowsers.
September: Wow, so much new… moving across the country to a new house, new church, new adventures. SO. MUCH. JOY.
October: New book genre. I realised my reading pattern had become quite predictable, so I broached into another one (graphic novels). Not my cup of tea – but again, I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t tried.
November: Ongoing little things as I explore my new neighbourhood… new coffee shops, new dog parks, new local merchants – enjoying the treasures that are found, and feeling comfortable with saying ‘no’ to places that just don’t work for me.
December: Messiah! While I’m an avid music lover and supporter of the arts, the week before Christmas is usually a very busy time – this year I made time to go the Symphony’s presentation of Handel’s Messiah – a time of pause and peace (and edification) for myself before the fun of the season.

I’m looking forward to the fun and adventure of 2024!!

Christmas Carols

In last month’s “Let Us Pray” Zoom session hosted by the Anglican Fellowship of Prayer, the Executive shared their favourite Advent or Christmas hymns, with a brief description of why those musical pieces were meaningful and prayerful to them. Our hymns spanned centuries, genres, and geography. It was a delight to have our National Director singing a few verses of each hymn (where copyright allowed).

My selection was “No Crowded Eastern Street” (Common Praise #129), for reasons both theological and personal. The lyrics began as a poem written in Winnipeg by Frieda Major in 1958; she later gave rights to her home parish (St. Luke’s, where I did my student internship). The music was written by Robert Fleming, who has roots in Saskatchewan, and is believed to have played at St. John’s (where I now serve as rector).

The hymn speaks of Christmas in the context of the prairies, which makes me feel at home - as I was growing up, we moved around quite a bit, and some of my formative years were spent on the prairies. I associate winter with a vast blanket of snow and equally vast sky. As an adult, Winnipeg is where my heart found home, and Manitoba brings my soul peace. This hymn encapsulates what it means for me to be home for Christmas.

I shared with the AFP gathering that the conjunctions in the hymn captivated my inner word-nerd. In verses 1 and 3, the poem conveys what the prairies lack at Christmas – a bustling eastern scene, camels, celestial choirs, etc. – “YET still to us is born tonight the child, the King of glory.”
The second verse describes the pastoral scene of uniquely Canadian setting, including the ubiquitous “great red barn” – “AND still to us is born tonight the child, the King of glory.”
The final verse then serves as equaliser for the whole human family, that whatever scenario one finds oneself in, we are brought together by the presence of Jesus: “in his presence all may stand with loving heart and willing hand; FOR still to us is born tonight the child, the King of glory.“

It’s a powerful carol, and I sing it every year. It reminds me that whatever life is like that year, home is still there: in the presence of the child, the embodiment of Love.

What’s your favourite carol? What seasonal hymns resonate for you?
Merry Christmas!

The Christmas Chameleon

I’ve had a number of encounters recently where people revealing their true selves… for good or not! There was a person who inadvertently revealed their deep misogyny, and a man who conceded that an appearance of abundance was more important than reality. There was also an individual who asked that a generous donation remain anonymous, and a woman who went well beyond her comfort zone to provide the best for her child.

Intentionally or not, people spend a lot of time revealing a lot about themselves. And this tends to happen while trying to blend in and be unnoticed – which reminded me of the common misperception of chameleons, as we used to think they changed colour to match that of the background.

For some, the holiday season will be a time where they won’t even think about being their authentic selves – for this is simply who they are, and how they interact in the world.

For some, it could be uncomfortable as they present different versions of themselves with different people. Folks who are deceitful or two-faced will be uneasy that family or friend groups may overlap, and uncover different variations of those people.

For others, the chameleon may be a necessary state, masking aspects of themselves that may be unwelcomed in their gatherings.

Identity is important; as is accepting the identity of those God has put into our lives. The gift of God's love should give us the confidence of be ourselves in the world, without camoflage. The gift of God's love should inspire us to be genuine in our welcome to all of God's people, creating and maintaining an environment where everyone is comfortable.

For those who only know acceptance, may they recognise the blessing and extend it to others.
For those who choose multiple personas, may they do the interior work to genuinely know themselves, and choose future social circles where they can engage without duplicity.
For those who feel need to keep their identities hidden, may they know the comfort of safe spaces where they can be their true selves.

And for all of us: may we be comfortable in our identity as children of God; may we realise and celebrate that God loved us all into life to be as we are; may we collectively seek ways to be safe space for everyone – where chameleon presentation will not be necessary.

Living Within Our Means

I recently got a credit card statement, showing that I owed $1. It got me thinking about living within my means! I do tend to be frugal when it comes to my spending, and I try to be generous with my savings. Partially, because I really don’t like paying interest if I don’t have to. I’ve also experienced times when the arrival of the credit card statement was cause for anxiety.

As we continue in the Pre-Christmas time, it’s not uncommon to discuss the importance of living within our means. We’re a capitalist society, and we seem to assign importance to the gift-buying season ahead.

Yet as we are also in Advent, the time of preparation, I ponder how we live within other means.
Are we being careful stewards with the other resources in our control? Are we being faithful in how we manage our time as we race towards the holiday? Have we considered how to expend our energy in the weeks of busy-ness ahead? Have we contemplated how to divvie up our spiritual care for self and others? Do we have a plan for our acts of generosity?

It is unfortunately not uncommon for us to run ourselves ragged at the holidays; we find ourselves indebted with these non-financial realities. We extend ourselves beyond our ability, which leaves us vulnerable. When we’re overextended emotionally, our shorter tempers get the better of us; a deficit in our energy means we are less likely to tap into the love we want to share and instead can be unintentionally offensive to those we’re closest to. We can find ourselves so depleted that we can’t be recharged from events and encounters that should be energising and enjoyable.

My proposal is that we try – at least a little bit – to live within our means. If we take time to pray and reflect, we can keep ourselves focused on the goodness that is in our midst, and engage in meaningful and appropriate ways. It’s okay for us to set limits in how much we give: of our funds, our time, ourselves. I would much prefer to spend time with people when I am able to give my best self; when I know what my capacity is (and isn’t), and when I am comfortable to respect that.

Living within our means takes practice, it’s not always easy, and others may not always understand it. But it is worthwhile, it is faithful, it is embracing what we have been given. It’s honouring the gift of love that we are receiving when we live authentically within that love.

Advent Avocados

Last summer, I was chatting with a dear friend about avocados. We were preparing a taco night with friends, and we are all fans of guacamole.

Avocados are a test of patience: you have to wait for *the* opportune moment.

You can’t rush it, and you can’t wait too long. (Sure, you can add heat to try and speed up ripening, or put them in the fridge to slow it down, but these are stop-gap measures)

Sure, there are hints for knowing that perfect moment (like denting in the nub at the top), but they are best guesses – the thick skin veils what’s going on inside.

Sometimes the flesh is still hard. And we all know that once it’s open you can’t seal it again. You can try to extend it with some citrus, but it’s going to go brown… faster than we want.

Sometimes, the flesh is already mushy – and even being mashed into guac, the taste of mushy avocado isn’t the taste you want in your guac.

Sometimes that pit is just way too big (and the fruit too small) to have waited so long.

Avocados are tricky.

Yet: that wonderful flavour and texture – for those of us who enjoy avocados, the journey is worth it.

Not unlike Advent: a time of waiting, of paying attention, of dwelling in expectation and hope.
Advent is also a time to realise that the opportune moment is always upon us, in ways that avocados can’t provide: for avocados are now-or-no; while Advent integrates the now-and-not-yet: Advent is not a time of no.

As we begin our Advent journey this Sunday, I hope that we find comfort and hope in the journey. Waiting, with hope, for the promise of Good News to come. As we wait, may we also find ways to bring Good News to those seeking it.

May our avocados be worth the wait; may our Advent be as fruitful as we can make it.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Earlier this week I posted a picture of my lovely dog and a pile of his hair. He’s part husky; we go through a de-floofing every couple of days. A (dog-wise) friend made the comment “the gift that keeps on giving!” And it was true, as that giant pile of fluff got tossed outside, and I watched birds picked it off the ground to take to their nests.

I was reminded of that today as I was processing a pumpkin. It had been gifted me a few weeks ago. It was a lovely windowsill decoration, and today it got chopped and skinned and prodded. The seeds are rinsed and drying, and will be roasted and ground to seed flour for future baking. The skins were peeled and the flesh is cubed in the dehydrator – becoming treats for the dogs. One pumpkin – a gift that keeps on giving!

There are so many things in this life that follow this pattern; revealing goodness and purpose to us over and over again, often in ways we may not recognise or even understand. The wasted fur providing warmth; the pumpkin skins (and inner goop) adding to the mix in the composter, which will offer nutrients to a future crop. Such opulence, that even what we reject continues to contribute to the bigger picture.

I find faith is like this. We have God’s grace and love lavished upon us, with endless generosity. The infinite goodness that pours over us changes us, if we let it. And we are invited into the cycle of giving, as we extend grace and love to those around us.

“We love because God first loved us.” 1 John 4.19
This love is the gift that keeps on giving. We will never be unloved or unlovable; we are already and always recipients of love. What a gift to be intentional with the love that we give: to those that we love, those we like, those we don’t even know. What a gift of faith to know that the love we extend may also continue to flow in ways unimaginable and unknown to us!

Productive

I had the best plans for productivity for my day off this week. I even had a list made up!

…and very little of those things happened.
…and that’s okay!

Because other things happened, things that brought a smile to my face and filled my soul.
Instead of getting words on the page with my writing partner, we had a lovely extended conversation (that we were long overdue for). The laundry didn’t quite make it to the washing machine; but the dogs invited me into some energetic playtime. The meal planning wasn’t even begun, but I laughed for over an hour with a friend as we caught up on the last few busy weeks. I progressed in reading the novel on the nightstand. I procrastinated on unpacking some knick-knacks, I avoided the sermon prep, and the dust bunnies were still prevalent on the floor.

In all these things, I didn’t meet the quantifiable measure of ‘productive’. And I don’t mind that. Partly, as none of the “to-do” items had a strict deadline – they can all be deferred to the future.
Partly, as what I was doing was joy-bringing, and nothing was being harmed by re-aligning my plans.

In all this, I wonder if we might do well to re-consider and re-define what it means to “be productive.” Our society does seem to value quantifiable hyper-productivity. Though while there is benefit at times to getting those ‘must-do’ items crossed off our lists, there are also times when something more important comes up.

Supportive conversations produce immeasurable networks.
Making memories produces healthy levels of happiness.
Laughter with friends produces quality connections that last years.

While society may consider my day off to have been UNproductive, I think it was a good day – and was OTHERLYproductive. It’s not a bad thing to unplug from plans, and we shouldn’t feel badly when we aren’t able to catalogue what we’ve done in a day. When we do what is fulfilling, we are resting our souls and re-creating (in recreation).

We often remember that God rested on the seventh day (the day of completion); we don’t know how much God laughed and played and rested. But we can trust that God did – and remind ourselves to do the same.