Heart Condition

If you have kids in grades 1-6 then you are probably aware that they are raising funds through Jump Rope for Heart, which benefits The Heart & Stroke Foundation of Canada.  Heart conditions, strokes and heart attacks are just a few of the ways that we are affected by heart health, either personally or in someone we love or know. 

I’m in the process of switching to a new Dr.  It seems my previous Dr. trusted that what she could see from the outside was all she needed to give me a clean bill of health after each physical.  When I went to see my new Dr., she was completely surprised to find out that I had never had blood taken unless I was pregnant.  She immediately sent me off to get blood taken.  What we discovered is that I have high cholesterol!  What?!  High cholesterol can run the family, as it does in mine, and can lead to other more serious complications of the heart if it’s not monitored.  I was surprised!  I mean, I’m pretty healthy.  I try to eat well, and keep active.

But it’s on the inside, the parts we can’t see where there can be problems.

So it is in the same with our spiritual heart.

When the disciples asked Jesus to explain why He was so hard on the Pharisees, He pointed out that they were far more interested in their outward appearance – they were busy washing their hands before eating, tithing all that they owned, observing every feast day, fast day and Sabbath day.  However, they were oblivious to the corruption within their hearts.  It didn’t matter that they were considered devout believers – their outward actions did not dictate the true state of their heart health – and if their hearts weren’t right, they weren’t right.

Just like a medically unhealthy heart, we want to know about the problem so we can whatever is necessary to deal with it.  We know that we can’t neglect a physical heart condition, or it could be fatal.

The question is, should be any less concerned about the condition of our spiritual hearts?  We were all born into a family with a history of spiritual “heart disease”.  We need to look to God and ask Him to examine our hearts, and diagnose what we might not be able to see inside.

Nancy Leigh DeMoss wrote, “The Good New of the Gospel is that the Great Physician has made available a cure for our deceived, diseased hearts.  Jesus came to do radical heart surgery – to cleanse and transform us from the inside out, by the power of His death and resurrection”.

Psalm 51:10 says “Create in me a clean heart, O God.  Renew a loyal spirit within me”.

1 Samuel 16:7 says, “The Lord said to Samuel, ‘Don’t judge by his appearance or height, for I have rejected him.  The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them.  People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart’.”

When Things Are Stuck

I had to face a rather hard and painful problem last week.  There is still residual pain, but I had to push past it and keep going.  Its one of those things that just comes on so suddenly, but there’s nothing you can do. You’re sitting there, waiting for something to change, but time and again, you end up disappointed.

This problem is called “constipation”.

I managed to really bungle up my usually regular system, which soon turned into something a little more problematic than I had ever dealt with before.  It didn’t take long, and my inability to pass more than about a Timbit sized rock every day for several days in a row started to blow up into another unpleasant issue.

This secondary problem is known as the world’s most ginormous hemorroid, which is one of those beautiful after-surprises of childbirth.  Times that by three, and this particularly large tag along has become somewhat familiar to me already.

Because God has a sense of humour, and despite my pleas for this problem to go away very quickly and without a hassle, it turned into what I am sharing this morning.  So for that –and ONLY that - I am grateful.

After several days of just barely passing Timbit sized rocks, I realized that trying to push out this monstrosity on my own strength just wasn’t working.  Doing all that straining had only caused me more problems – that horrible hemorroid.  I was literally limping around the house, and dare I even mention that moment when I grabbed the mirror to investigate the damage, and nearly passed out at the view?!  It was horrific.  How had it come to this?

This reminds me of when we are dealing with other life problems as well.  Why do we rely on our own strength and plans to get us the results we desire? Why do we have to hit rock bottom so often before we turn to God for help?    It seems that only once we’ve pushed ourselves into the most vulnerable position, and we feel there’s nothing left to lose will we turn to God and ask Him for help.

Well, I did ask God for help.  Right after I consulted my mom.  Oh thank goodness for moms!  A quick trip over to her place and I was armed with an arsenal that could surely take down the most giant wall of constipated stool!  By now my bathroom counter was looking at lot more like that special aisle at Shopper’s Drug Mart that one might not want to linger in for long, in case someone you know might see you comparing Ex-lax extra strength to the generic brand. I am currently the owner of various creams and ointments, a sitz bath, and a squatty potty, just to name a few.  The more I think about it, the more I realize that I’ve turned my en suite into a nursing home.

The problem is that even though asking others for help or advice is fine – it doesn’t compare to the infinite knowledge that comes from Christ.  What happened after taking my mom’s advice was a night spent rolling around with painful cramps that resulted in nothing but some toots, and further strain on my nether region.

God asks us to turn to him with all our worries and anxieties.  He says we can cast all our cares on him.  But how often do we turn to someone else first?  Why is it that we ignore his requests and look to others around us for answers?  In my case, I only caused myself more discomfort.

There came a point where my lack of elimination was getting so uncomfortable and worrisome that I knew I needed to take drastic measures.  I drove to the pharmacy one more time, and humbled myself to the middle-aged male pharmacist, to whom I explained my entire situation.  If he saw any humour in it, he didn’t show it, and I commend him for what is likely a practiced poker face saved for that time when someone starts talking about their lack of regular poop and the mountain in their rear.

We stood in front of the constipation remedies, and he asked what kind of time frame I was hoping for.  Days? Hours?  Or minutes?  I said, “minutes”.  He pointed out a box, and said, “Then this is your option”.

There are defining moments in every person’s life, and one of them is very much the moment when you have locked yourself in your bathroom and begin the process of reading the instructions on how to give yourself an enema.  I trusted the pharmacist in his expertise, and knew that this was very likely going to be the answer.  I put aside my fears, and got it done.  And you know what?!  IT WORKED!  In a few short minutes my system had been redeemed, and I was on to nursing myself back to better bowel movements.

In the end I had to put my trust in the one who knew what he was doing – the pharmacist. 

This is the same for God – don’t wait to talk to him as your last resort.  Of course we all know that you may not be able to request an answer from him in minutes – but you never know!  He’s been through what you’ve been through!  He knows what you need, and he knows the perfect solution to your problem.  He may even lead you somewhere unexpected in the process.

I had to chuckle when I was taking a little break from writing this piece, and saw this quote come up on my Facebook feed:

This could not be more true.  Put God into everything, and watch things flow!  Call out to him, he hears you!  Ask him for help, he loves to give it.  Always look to him as your first responder, your first call, your first option.  You will never be sorry that you did.

What Motherhood Means to Me

A piece written for presentation on Mother's Day at our church in 2008.

What does motherhood mean to me? Wow! That is such a hard question to come up with a half-decent answer for!  Motherhood means a million things to me.  I thought about talking about what Motherhood doesn’t mean to me – like sleeping in on Saturday mornings, clean floors, fancy suppers, or being able to listen to an entire church service uninterrupted.  I thought about how motherhood makes me love things I never thought I could love – like crumbs on the rug, boogers on my shirt, and toys all over the house.  But I love these things because they are proof that my son lives in our home.  Having him, and the joy he brings, is impossible to describe.  To us he is a treasure, a miracle, just amazing.  He is what makes me a mom – and I love being his mom.

I have a blog on the internet, and this week I asked my readers what motherhood means to them.  These are just a few snippets from the responses I got, and I had to completely agree with all of them.

"Motherhood truly fulfills me, and brings out the best in me. It's got to be the BEST job in the world!  It’s rewarding, irreplaceable, indescribable. A God-given role, a privilege, an honor. Blessed beyond measure. Best of all, my children love me despite my short comings and feel thankful to have me in their lives."

"It’s the greatest gift I have ever recieved.  Being a mommy sometimes is so very challenging but yet is something that is the most rewarding. Indescribable joy that can never be replaced."

Another woman said, “Motherhood has finally driven home the true power and meaning of God's sacrifice of his son. When I really think about just how overwhelming my love for my son is, and realize that God loves all of us like that and infinitely more, and because of that love he sent his Son to suffer and die for us. It makes any frustration of motherhood completely disappear. I don't think anything but parenthood would have driven that message home in such a way.”

For myself, I know that motherhood changed how I see God, and how I want Him to see me.  Motherhood pushed me to know God intimately, and to seek Him with all my heart so that I can learn how to better take care of my son.  Motherhood has pushed me to take up the motto “Fully Rely on God”.  Motherhood made me realize that I want to stand before God one day, and know that I did all I could to show Christ’s love to my children, that they would want that same love in their lives.  Motherhood made me realize that I want my children to rise up and call me blessed.  Motherhood made me realize that I want nothing more in my life than to be able to confidently say to my children, “Come, take my hand and follow me”.

A verse that has helped me through the mystery of motherhood has been James 1:5.  I keep it on my fridge, and I read it daily.  I like the Message version, which says “If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open”.

So to all you mother’s out there, or soon-to-be-mothers, mothers of adopted children, mothers who have angel children, or those that are hoping-to-one-day-be-a-mother, happy mother’s day to you. May God richly bless you today – you deserve it.

Narrator of Life

A piece I wrote in 2010 for a ladies night I spoke at.

Motherhood consumes my entire life, and affects every aspect of my life, so I find it difficult to think or talk about anything else!  As well, I feel extremely blessed to be able to be a mother, and want nothing more than to give glory to God for that privilege.  I also have to admit that I stumbled across this topic on the website of Nicole Johnson, who is a humourous Christian auther, performer, and motivational speaker.  What I am going to talk about this evening is an adaptation of her article titled “Naming”.

So in the case that you don’t already know, I’ve been a wife to my husband Ryan for almost 7 years.  We have two children.  Our son James, who is three, and our daughter Rayya, who is almost 5 months old. 

The last three years in our home have sounded a lot like this:

“Do you see that?  That’s a truck.  It’s a big, red truck.  It makes loud noises, doesn’t it? See that tall tree?  It’s really tall.  There are birdies in it.  What sound does a birdie make?  Tweet.  Tweet. This is our house, our house is yellow, with purple doors.”

Does this sound familiar?  For the past three years of my life, I have been naming almost every single thing that I see, or use, or play with, or touch, or smell, or hear.  This wonderful process has reinforced my thinking about how important naming really is. When we give something a name we call out its worth and value with our words and tone.  A flower is beautiful.  Grandma is special. The fireplace is hot.  What a privilege to be the one to introduce the things that my children see and tell them their names.  Whether it is a chair, a book, a toaster, or a friend, the names of things are shaping their world.

This is a window (I’m thinking that it needs to be cleaned) and we can see outside from here. This is a broom.  We use it to sweep the floor.  This is a toothbrush. We don’t use it to sweep the floor.

And just when I was getting really tired of hearing myself naming everything around me to James, Rayya came along!  Now, our days are filled with doing that naming thing for Rayya, but also with conversations between James and I that go much like this:

“Mom, what is that thing?”

“This is a screwdriver.  I am going to use it to get this screw loose”.

“Why?”

“Because you want me to take this car out of this box, and they screwed it in”.

“I like that car.  Why did they screw it in?”

“I guess because they wanted to make sure no one steals it.”

“Who would steal it?”

“Sometimes bad people take things without paying for them, that’s called stealing – when we take things without asking, or without paying”.

“I am not going to steal, because I don’t like stealing”.

“I am glad to hear that James”.

“But mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Why would those bad people steal?”

And so the conversations go, back and forth, all day long.  I have to say that this is a part of motherhood that I love.  I love being a tour guide of the world for my children.

When I was in school and we were working on a play, I always loved the part of the narrator.  This is usually a very important character (with a lot of lines) because they know what is really going on in the story and can help the audience understand. Sometimes they are the only one who can see the big picture. Everyone always wanted to be the narrator, including me. What a joy for me to get to play this role in our children’s lives.  I am narrating the story of our days to them. We’re going to fly on an airplane today. Oh, you hurt your hand when you fell down. I saw what happened.  The ground scraped it a little. I’m so sorry.  I know it hurts, but I promise it will get better.  They look to me to put words to what is happening, sometimes as it’s happening, so they can understand. My voice is somehow reassuring to them and when I tell them something like a big truck just went by and created that scary noise, they seem very content with my explanation.

And just when I hear myself saying something to my kids, I hear God saying it so clearly to me. After all, isn’t God the ultimate narrator of our stories?  And don’t we look to him for understanding and meaning when we can’t find it in our circumstances?  He is not only the narrator he is the author and the ONLY one who can see the big picture and help us understand. When I am afraid, when things don’t make sense, when I’m hurting and not even sure why, I can often hear him narrating my experience… Oh, you were hurt by that person’s words weren’t you?  I saw what happened. That wasn’t a very kind thing for someone to say, but Heather, trust me, it will get better.  His voice is somehow reassuring to me and I’m very content with his explanations.

Needless to say, I’m learning a lot as a mother…about myself, about my children, and about God.  

Why I Wish I Had Known

I presented this message at a bridal shower held by the ladies fellowship at RFC two years after we were married, sometime in 2005.

My husband Ryan and I have been married for almost two years after dating for over three. You think you know everything about a person when you’ve dated that long, but I have learned that there will always be something new to learn about my husband. However, there is one thing I wish I had known about him before we got married. I wish I had known that my husband was human.

You may laugh, but it’s true. Instead of marrying a human husband, I thought I was marrying my Prince Charming, or maybe he was my super hero. Or perhaps he would be my new little puppy dog.

When I married Ryan, I expected him to be my Prince Charming—providing constant romance. Breakfasts in bed, “I love you” notes left around the house, poetry boasting of his love for me, and constant reminders of how beautiful I am. But, that didn’t happen. At least, it wasn’t exactly like that.

So, maybe I had actually married my super hero. Ryan the Rugged. Someone who would be there to catch my every fall, wipe my every tear, be at my side in every situation, and say the right thing every time. He was the one who would save my life. I’d never have to worry about anything ever again! But, that didn’t happen either. So, whom had I married?

A new little puppy dog? Yes! A new little puppy dog. I would train him to be just what I wanted him to be. He would do everything just as I would ask him to do it. Yes, I would train my new little puppy dog husband to be perfect. But, guess what? That didn’t happen either.

So, where was my Prince Charming? Sure, romantic things happen now and then—but not every day. I came to realize that I hadn’t married Prince Charming after all. I had married Ryan, and Ryan was human, not a fairy tale character. My Prince Charming gets tired. Sometimes he needs me to initiate a little romance. And now, when romantic things happen, I appreciate them so much more.

And my super hero husband? Well, Ryan the Rugged can’t always be there to catch me when I fall. In fact, sometimes he falls too. He wipes away my tears when he can, but sometimes he needs someone to wipe away his tears. And, he certainly doesn’t always have the right thing to say. Now I realize that this is because he is human—not an artifi cial cartoon character created by someone’s imagination. Ryan was created by God, and God put him in my life for a reason. I’ve come to appreciate the fact that sometimes Ryan’s silent presence is all I need to feel secure. I’ll leave the part of saving my life up to God.

As for training my husband like a puppy, well, we all know that if you marry someone with the intention of changing him or her, you are in big trouble. I’ve learned over the last year and half that we need to learn to compromise. I can’t train Ryan like a puppy dog; certain rewards might encourage him to do things for me, but that’s not the point. The point is that when I married my husband, I married him for who he is, not for who I can change him to be. Any changes we make for each other are simply acts of love, a bonus in our married life together. I wish I had known my husband was human right from the very beginning, instead of burdening him with high expectations. I’m still occasionally guilty of expecting too much from him—but God is teaching us everyday about each other, and I still love every moment of it.

Christmas 2017

This poem came to me in the dead of the night, and I couldn't sleep until I jotted it down blindly with a lipliner pencil into a tiny notebook on my nightstand.  I entered it into a local writing contest to win second place and have it published in the local newspaper.

Twas’ Christmas twenty-seventeen,

And all were at rest.

The heat in the house

Being monitored by Nest.

The screens all plugged in,

Charging up with care.

The high frequency router

Putting waves through the air.

The kids in their beds

Were dreaming of gifts,

Like iPhones and Xbox

To watch their Netflix.

But mom had done

What she not even dare,

As the gifts of twenty-seventeen

Were wrapped with such care.

There wasn’t one single phone,

Tablet or TV.

Not one wifi-enabled device

Under the tree.

Mom had just enough

Of her zombie-eyed troop.

It was time to put life

Back into her group.

So on Christmas morning,

The kids all came down.

Couldn’t wait to text friends

All over their town.

Just waiting to post pics

Of all they had got,

Adding filters to selfies

In just the right spot.

Mom and dad sat,

As their kids opened their stuff.

They knew what came next

Might be a bit rough.

“Um, mom, I think something

May have been forgotten?”

Said one of the kids,

With a face that looked rotten.

“I think I had asked for

An iPhone Z3,

But I don’t see more gifts

Wrapped under our tree”.

“And, in my stocking,”

They heard another kid say,

“There’s no gift card for iTunes

For more music to play!”

“I’m sorry,” said mom,

“There won’t be any screens,

The internet says they give

Anxiety to teens”.

“Instead you will find

Books and a new pair of socks,

You won’t find any phone

Inside of that box.”

“We’re going to play games,

But you won’t need a remote.

Here’s a Battleship game,

You try sinking my boat”.

“Maybe we’ll go carolling,

Visit gramps and gran,

And we won’t even post that

On Instagram!”

“I like all electronics

Near as much as you do,

But the thing that’s forgotten?

Well, that would be you!”

“We’ve decided to make

Some memories this year.

We won’t need Twitter

To bring us good cheer”.

“I promise you kids

It’s going to be fun.

Our list of events

Has only begun!”

“We’re going to buy mitts,

And take them out to the street.

There are people out there

Who have nothing to eat”.

“Then we’ll strap on our skates

And take to the ice.

The Forks has a trail that

I hear is quite nice”.

“At the end of the day

I feel you’ll agree,

The best gift you got

Was time with our family”.

The whole family agreed,

And mom hugged each one near.

Merry Christmas to all,
And a happy New Year!

Fear or Love?

To quote the usually hilarious Jim Carrey, “So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality.”  This quote stuck out at me from my Facebook feed some what like the world’s largest zit appearing on picture day.  There was more to his quote, which was taken from a commencement speech he gave at a college graduation.  But this line struck my heart because it really defined my life.

I chose my path out of fear disguised as practicality, and it all started in high school.  Now don’t get me wrong – when it comes to most other things, I don’t have a lot of fear.  My teenage self in particular would do anything, and talk to anyone.  You dare me to do what?  No problem.  You want to talk to that boy, but you’re too shy?  No problem, I’ll go start talking to him and then you join me.  You want me to sing two solos and have the lead part in the Christmas program in grade 6?  Not a problem.

But for some reason I could not apply that same fearlessness into pursuing my true passion.  Initially I wanted to become a veterinarian, but very early on in my high school career I realized that I would not be able to do that without a lot of hard work!  I feared hard work for a few reasons.  It didn’t come naturally to me, because most school work felt easy to me.  I also feared hard work because it would take up my time, and my precious time was much better spent socializing in my opinion!  But deep down in my heart, I feared failing – so instead I decided I’d pursue my second choice of being a graphic designer.  This also appeared very practical – because I had a father who was a graphic designer, and had some natural talent for it, so really it was a no-brainer choice.  Choosing this much safer profession I could get away with the easy course load – and take all the math ‘G’ courses and the easy sciences.  I still managed to nearly bomb Biology, which to me only solidified my practical choice of being a graphic designer over a vet.  I mean there’s a pretty good chance you can’t be a good veterinarian if you don’t understand biology!

So it was now time to go into post secondary education – and I wanted desperately to go to YWAM, and travel to some amazing places in the world.  If you’re not familiar with YWAM, I can tell you more about it later.  However, at the time I was dating a boy from Regina, and the fear of losing him if I went too far away swayed my decision – so I chose a Bible College to go to that was just an hour away from him.  We broke up the month before I moved there – which made it too late to change where I was going, and I wasted away a year of my life at college because I didn’t want to be there.

I’m just going to interject here for a minute to say that this all sounds so depressing – and I’m only talking about the negatives of all these years of my life for the purpose of my point!  So hang in there with me – I’ll be bringing this back around yet!

At some point during my year at Bible College, I fell in love with counselling and psychology.  I felt my heart pulling me to stay at that college and take a counselling or psych degree.  It would have been a lot of work – I had almost no money left, and I would have been looking at student loans and working while doing my degree.  All of that uncertainty pushed me back to making what I thought was a practical decision – move back home to my parents, and go to school there.  So I moved home, and applied to attend Red River College for their graphic design program.  A long story short, during the summer months while I was at home but had not yet started college, one of my dad’s graphic designers announced she was pregnant.  My dad asked if I would fill in her position temporarily, and postpone going to Red River for a year.  I agreed.  It seemed like another practical decision, because I could spend a year making a little money before going back to school.  In the end, I worked for him for seven straight years doing graphic design, and then decided to be at home with my babies when I had James.

So…I read that quote I mentioned earlier, and was struck by the thought of how much I’ve done or not done in my life which was dictated by fear. I went to my Bible, and looked up verses about fear. There are many – and I’m sure quite a few of us have heard that it says “fear not” 365 times in the Bible – once for every day of the year.  Well, that isn’t totally true – in the King James translation it only says “fear not” 108 times.  However, different translations say different things – but one thing is for sure – if you look up verses on fear, anxiety and how love conquers these things, you will find lots – a lot more than just 365!  The verse that I liked best is 1 John 4:18.

God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we’re free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ’s. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love.

Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced his perfect love.

I want to choose this spirit of love instead of a spirit of fear in every part of my life.  If God is love, and He lives in me, then I should be able to do all things through Him who strengthens me – including living a life free of fear.

I believe this choice between love and fear can be applied to so many other areas of our lives as well. If I fear what people think, it shapes the things I say and do.  Some days I fear that I’ll fail as a mom, but if I’m loving my kids every day, with all my heart, then I’m already succeeding.

After having this realization, I found myself browsing the Providence College website to find information about their counselling program.  I feel that fear welling up when I think about the possibility of doing school with kids, the hard work it will take, the time it will take, and the uncertainty of it all.  But if I cast away my fear, all I feel is the amount of love I could pour into a job in counselling, and how I could use it to bring glory to God.

I want to challenge us all to let God’s love cast out our fear, and fill us with love.  You cannot fail in whatever you do if you do it in love.

What fear is holding you back?  What would you do if you lived without fear?

Humble Thyself

Just catching up on my posts.  Here is another one written for Morning Out for Moms in 2017.

My first ever massage was anything but relaxing.  It was while we were away on a tropical vacation with my husband’s family.  My son was about 2, and it was time for me to have a time out to pamper myself.  I decided to take in a massage at the hotel’s luxury spa – it would be the first time I ever had a professional massage!

To give you some context, I have to tell you a little bit about this hotel.  Over the years the clientele has become somewhat more “common”, but in those early years of going there, we were among some of the world’s finest.  My sister-in-law has run into the likes of Luke Perry, and at one time Halle Berry was in a suite at the hotel while we were there.  Jennifer Love Hewitt once stopped in the hall to tell me that my son, who was in a stroller at the time, was a very cute baby!  This mixing with the rich and famous is actually quite humbling.  Every year that we are blessed to go on this trip, my sister-in-law and I have to mentally prepare ourselves for the initial venture out to the pool.  There we are – in all our commonness – with our pastey white Canadian hibernation skin – having NOT had access to a personal trainer, private chef and a nanny – standing in the pool area feeling quite a bit like an outsider.  We’ve learned to laugh at ourselves, love ourselves, and happily sip at our pina coladas, eating our kids’ leftover French fries while we watch our kids playing with the other kids and their nannies, while their moms are at the fitness center or taking in a yoga class, or shopping, or whatever it is they do.

However, in an effort to fit in, sometimes we find ourselves trying to just act “wealthy”.  This is not for the faint of heart.  My sister-in-law and I are desperately and ridiculously immature, and end up in situations that usually just have us in fits of giggles.  VERY undignified.

So back to the first massage visit.  I was still at a point in my life where I was sort of just trying to fit into this rich hotel crowd.  I didn’t want to let on that I had never had a massage, or that I was completely unfamiliar with the procedures at a spa!  I had never been at a spa before!  I had done some research, asking my sister-in-law and mother-in-law what they do for a massage.  Do you bathe first?  Do you wear underwear?  Do they give you a robe?  They assured me that I could bathe there, and that I would get a robe, and that ultimately it was up to me whether I wore underwear or not, but that I would be covered up, so I didn’t have to.

When I checked into the spa that morning, the lady at the desk asked me if I had ever had a massage before. “Yes”, I kinda half-lied.  I had many massages before – from Ryan – but never at a spa.  I didn’t want her to think I was underprivileged or something – I don’t even remember why I felt I had to lie.  All I can think of now is pride.  She showed me the changing room, and gave me a robe.  Then she showed me the massage room I was to go into, and instructed me that I could just lay face down on the bed and the therapist would bring in a warm blanket to cover me with.

She then left me to get ready, so I changed.  It was at that point that I had to make my underwear decision.   Wear it or not?  Well, once again with that pride, I didn’t want to seem like a newbie to the massage scene, and felt that the veterans probably all go commando, so I would too. Off came the undies, and I slid into the fluffy white spa robe.  Next it was into the massage room.  I closed the door, hung my robe on the hook, and then took a look at the bed.  Hmmmmmmm… I was supposed to lie facedown on the bed, but…there was nothing to cover me up!  I looked around the room, thinking there would be a folded sheet or something there (something like going to the Dr., and you are left to cover up your bottom half with the slightly too-small paper sheet).  There was nothing.  I felt my heartrate starting to rise, thinking that at any moment the therapist would knock on the door and I wouldn’t be ready!  Ack!  Was I supposed to wear my robe?  No, the other lady had clearly showed me where to hang it up.  Then I figured, okay, I guess women like me are just comfortable with their bodies and they just lay there with their naked bottoms up in the air until they are covered with the warmed blanket.  Yes, I told myself – just be confident – just be like all those other rich, personal trainer toned, private-chef fed moms out there!  So, that’s what I did.  I laid myself prone onto that masseuses table, with my naked rear in the air LIKE A BOSS.  I feel at this point I should also interject and say that in my more recent massage experiences, there is usually low lighting and soft music playing in the room, and I think that would have made this scenario far more comfortable.  However, I don’t remember music, and I definitely remember that this room was lit with horrible fluorescent lighting, that no doubt did nothing to flatter my cellulite dimpled white Canadian butt cheeks. 

In hindsight, I can never understand why I didn’t just go back to the change room and grab my panties, or why I didn’t go back to the front desk and ask where the sheet was to cover up.  But looking back I realize that my stubborn pride to appear as someone I was not was the only reason.

Within a few moments the therapist knocked on the door to let me know they were entering.  And entered HE did!  This was possibly the most shocking moment to me.  I never thought about whether the therapist would be male or female!  I just assumed a female the whole way through, and had no idea I could make that request when I booked my appointment!  He was short and stout, with a balding head and a beard.  I do not know whether it made it worse or better than if he had been more like a GQ model, and I also don’t know for sure that it would have been better if HE had been a SHE.  Either way, the damage was done.  He entered the room, and was equally if not moreso surprised to see my bottom end in the air as I was trying to remain calm, and appear as though this was a completely normal situation in my life.  I am not quick to panic, and my self-preservation mode kicked in, so I’m pretty sure I just smiled at him.  “Um, there should be a sheet underneath you there ma’am, to cover up with”.  Well, ladies, what would YOU have done?  I did exactly what I thought a fake-it-till-you-make-it confident, rich, comfortable in her own skin woman would do in that moment.  I leapt off the bed, and stood there fully undressed, sucking it in to save my life, plastering on a fake smile, trying my best to look like this was completely okay with me.  The therapist quickly untucked the sheet that covered the bed, and let me slide under while he held it up like a wall between us.  I chose not to say much, in hopes that he would perhaps also think I was not able to speak English – and that if I was perhaps European that would surely explain all of my previous actions. 

Needless to say, I was completely mortified, and that 90 minute massage felt like an eternity.  I couldn’t WAIT to get out of there!

So what is the moral of the story?  Well, for one, don’t pretend to be someone you are not!

And two, here is Proverbs 11:2 from the New Living Translation:

"Pride leads to disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom".

Or from the Message: "The stuck-up fall flat on their faces, but down-to-earth people stand firm".

Had I just put aside my pride, and asked for some help, I would have been made wiser and would not have been caught with my pants down, flat on my face.

Never Enough

Please bear with me as I catch up with putting my writing on this new blog!  This is a piece I wrote for Morning Out for Moms in November 2017.

I will never forget the moment that I found out that no one ever feels good enough.  This particular time it had to do with being good enough for God.  I was married, had one child at the time, and nearly every day I suffered with the unbearable reality that I was just not good enough for God.  Despite striving to be my best, and working to do as much good as I could and be as perfect as I could, I knew I didn’t measure up.  It was exhausting and depressing. I had no idea if I’d make it past the gates of Heaven.

So when I was visiting in a different church one Sunday, I found myself nodding in agreement with the pastor as he asked the questions, “Do you find that you never measure up?  Do you question your salvation, and if you deserve it?  Do you constantly fail, and feel that you’ll never arrive in your walk of faith? Well, guess what everyone, I feel like that too”.  I was stunned.  Don’t pastors, and missionaries, and all those amazing Christian authors feel like they have their (noise) together?! He went on to explain that NO ONE ever feels like they have arrived.  No one.  “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God”.  Not just me.  ALL.

He talked about our faith walk like a journey up a set of stairs.  We start at the bottom, and work our way up to Heaven.  Many of us have grown up with a preconceived notion, or maybe just a plain old lie from the devil himself, that somewhere along that set of stairs is a mystical and marvellous place called “Now we are good enough”.  I, for one, was in a desperate search for that place.  Working in all the ways I knew how to somehow be good enough to get to the “good enough” spot on those stairs where God Himself would come down and tell me, “Yes, now you are welcome in My House”.  That morning though, in that church, the pastor crushed my dream of achieving that moment.  He let us all know that place DOES NOT EXIST.  What?!  No one, ever, feels good enough?  No one ever says, “yes, now I’m okay”?  That God we claim to know and love?  He doesn’t just sit at the top of the stairs and watch us from a distance falling and failing.  He doesn’t sit there judging us and wondering when we will pull our act together and get to the “good enough” spot. 

No, the God that loves us beyond our own comprehension comes and meets us at the VERY BOTTOM of those stairs on the very first day we ask Him to.  And after that, He never, ever leaves.  He does not give up.  He does not care if we fail.  He does not abandon us.  He is right there on those steps with us every single day, every single step we make – whether it’s up one, or down two, He’s there.  He holds our hand, He cheers us on, He carries us when we break, and He holds us in His arms when we think we just won’t make it.  There is no place to reach that we will be good enough.  We are good enough because He makes us good enough.  We are not good enough on our own – but we are good enough with Him – no matter where we are at in our lives. At this point during the service my shoulders were shaking as I tried to mask the fact that I was openly weeping.  Why don’t I ever pack Kleenex in my purse?!

By now you are saying to yourselves, “Thank for you this alter-call type sermon Heather – what does this have to do with being mothers?!”.  I won’t apologize for that – I hope I am encouraging some of you in your faith walk, that it doesn’t have to look perfect.

But it is the same with mothering.  No mother ever feels that she’s got her (noise) together every day.  Not one single mom ever feels she’s got this, or that she’s creating the perfect environment for raising her children to be the best human beings the world has ever seen every day.  We STRIVE for that, we desire that, but we fail and we worry that we’re ruining them.

You are not alone on this motherhood journey.  Just like God is with us on every step of our faith journey, He is also there for every step of your journey as a mom – failing or thriving.

Take a moment to think about the women in your life.  This can be your tribe.  This is your village.  These are the moms who can walk with you step-by-step as you grow, and as your children grow.  None of us will do it perfectly or get it all right or choose to do everything the same way.  We’re going to fail – but we can get back up.  These are the women who will help you dust off, wipe off those tears, and let you know that they’ve totally been there, face down in the dust as well.

That is why I picked out 1 Peter 3:8 as a sort of theme verse for our group this year.  The NLT version of it is this:

"Finally, all of you should be of one mind. Sympathize with each other. Love each other as brothers and sisters. Be tenderhearted, and keep a humble attitude". (NLT)

But the Message version reads like this, and I really like it:

“Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing”. (MSG)

So let’s walk this road, these steps, this journey – whatever it is to you – let’s do it together, step-by-step, growing together this year.  I pray this group will help you to become the absolute best mom you can be, imperfections and all.

The Hope of Christmas

I am catching up on posting some of my writing on this new blog.  This is a piece I wrote for a morning at Morning Out for Moms where I serve as a leader.  I wrote it in December 2017.

This past Sunday we celebrated the first advent, which is the advent of hope.

Two years ago, at Morning Out for Moms where I serve as a leader, that I broke down with the weight of the depression I had been carrying.  It was a strange sense of failure, humility, fear, hopelessness and relief all at the same time.  I remember days on end of fighting the desire to cry.  All I wanted was to let that flood gate open, but I would hold it back.  On that morning I remember the feeling of that floodgate breaking while standing in front of the whole group.  I was terrified. What would people think if they knew I was so broken? What would people think if they knew…if they knew that in rare, but very dark moments, a deceptive voice would lie to me that I was better off not being here?  But on that day, after I finally just let the truth come out, I was able to start the road to healing.  It took some time, but there was finally hope – a light at the end of a long and dark tunnel.  I would be okay.  I was enough. I was worthy of love.  I was valuable. I am, after all, the daughter of a King!

Just a quick but important interjection here: Mental illness, depression, and anxiety just to name a few is a massive problem in our world right now.  I am passionate about talking about it, and seeing people get help.  If you are in a place right now where you need help with this, please talk to someone.  I am always available, as well as many others within this group that would be happy to help you get the help you need. There is NO weakness in saying, “I’m not okay”.

Within that group of women, we have cumulatively walked through a multitude of trials.  There are those who have lost babies, who have lost parents, who have lost jobs, who have been given devastating, life-altering news, who have lost spouses, who have lost friends, who have divorced parents, family feuds, children with special needs, who have faced depression, who have lived in poverty, who have had suicidal thoughts, eating disorders, chronic illness, and the feeling that they are completely alone despite being surrounded by people almost all of the time.

It was for us, for broken people, that Jesus came.

I never thought very much about how the angels went first to the shepherds to tell of the birth of Jesus.  But the more I learn about God, the more I see how the heart of Him is always turned to those who are considered “the least”.  Shepherds were humble men; in fact, shepherds were looked down upon by many people. But Jesus came for all people — rich and poor, male and female, popular and unpopular, successful and unsuccessful. By announcing Jesus’ birth to the shepherds, God was demonstrating His love for every one of us, no matter who we are and no matter where we are.

In 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 Paul talks about how Jesus would say “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.  That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

If you are feeling weak today, there is hope.  There is hope in God who says that when we are weak, we can be strong through him.  If you are feeling depressed, weary or burdened today, there is hope in God who says He will give us rest.  If you are anxious or worried, He asks you to cast your cares on Him.  If you’re afraid, He says that he can give you peace that passes understanding.

In my most depressed days, this message would still not have actually given me hope.  Sometimes the darkness was just too great – and a message like this might have even made me feel worse, because I would feel unable to say that I believed it. So if that resonates with you, and you don’t see that light at the end of the tunnel right now, here is God’s simple message of hope for you: You are valuable. You are worthy. You are enough. You are not alone. You are special. You are wonderfully made. You are not invisible. If you feel like the outcast, rejected, unworthy shepherd left out in the pasture, remember that it is for you a host of angels came to sing. You are the daughter of a King.