Friday, October 21, 2011

A Prelude: Streams In The Desert

Click Here: For Listening

A prelude post: written by Karyn. With a transparency that reverberated such as a waterfall, lifting the veil within my own heart and soul. Thank you.

I have been pondering the rainless desert for a couple of weeks, remembering how the earth - pounded by the relentless sun - starts to fragment, the little chips of dried clay curling upward imploringly, like a prayer.

Funny how fragment and fragile can seem so connected ...

Then at night the blistering heat can be replaced by the gusty cold, winds whipping the sand into the cracks where it chafes the raw cuts and gouges deeper. This savage change in temperature is a result of the extremely low level of precipitation which doesn't provide a cushion from the heat in the day, and which also allows the heat to escape very easily in the night.

Freezing ...

All creation groaning.


Hear the crunching of the parched land as it's trodden underfoot. Picture a thousand tiny fingers of earth being snapped by the steps of an unwitting passerby.

Fractured ...

There are animals that inhabit the desert, timid creatures that know no other life but to scrabble for their needs, to protect themselves and those that belong to them from the elements and to keep a weather eye out for danger. Meerkats, for example, always have a couple of their number on sentry duty at any given time.

Frightened ...

When you're in the desert you avert your eyes for fear that they will land on a mirage and you'll be given false hope. You view your surroundings through your peripheral vision because the intensity of facing them head on is too great.

Frantic ...

And then, when you think you can go on no more - when the pain and the loneliness and the disorientation seem to have reached their nadir - you spot a tiny, flame-coloured flower, peeking shyly from amidst the scrub.

"There is unexpected beauty here," the blossom whispers to you. "In this desolate place you can find peace and restoration if you know how to look, if you know how to listen."

"But I need water!" you whimper, wringing your hands. "There's no water here!"

"I'm here," the flower responds. "There are streams in the desert in the most unlikely places. You'll come across them at the most unexpected moments. Do what you do each day. They'll be revealed to you and your frail soul will find relief."

And so you do what you do. You knit. You love your children. You create beauty with your husband and you allow yourself to accept his adoration. You minister to others through a word, a song, a hug, a tiny blue elephant. You reach out with what little strength you have left.

Your groans add to the chorus of all creation's, waiting ...

Travail ...

You start to delight in the minute: a tiny green shoot here, a flittering butterfly there, a small glass of water offered in His name, a sick child who sleeps through one night.

Small mercies.

Transition ...

And you start to notice fine silver threads of water in some of the indentations of the earth. Not a river by any means; but after all, this is a desert and a stream is enough to sustain you when your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth. You drink greedily from the source, cupping your hand to dam the flow and scoop up enough for a mouthful.

Then with both your hands cupped together you carry some of the precious elixir to the flame-coloured flower, to the shoot which seems to have grown a little.

And you start to achieve a sort of peace, a sort of rest. The desert is becoming your abode. You wonder when it started to change, when it started to be less severe, less forbidding.

But the truth is, the desert has not changed; it is you who are learning to abide in the place in which you find yourself, you who are growing and stretching and accommodating and shrinking and contracting and setting boundaries to knit this strange beauty into the pattern of the cloak you will wrap around you for protection and for comfort.

As you journey through the desert you find that the once-feared desert in turn has become your sanctuary in this period of your life. And as you follow the trickle of water you discover that the stream will lead you through the desert to a river that swells and flows stronger with gathering force until it cascades into a mighty waterfall that thunders over the rocks and into the deep pool waiting to receive it.

Triumph ...

And you will understand that you were not alone as you sojourned through the desert: your good shepherd was there all along, protecting and shielding you until in his perfect time he leads you beside still waters to restore your soul.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Celebrating 60

I watch the way you greet us, with hands out to embrace us. I have done this for years and always smile in my memory.

Our relationship: between You and I, over the last years, has worn in like lessons learned well, shoes walked miles in. What I have not said in more ways than 1 is:

Thank you for being my Dad.

You smile as the children run into the corners of your home, yard, & space. All the while they're trying still to make you laugh or show you proudly something they have created.
Thank you for always letting them, it

Speaks volumes to my soul.

I remember the first time we met in Chinook mall.
Too shy, happy & nervous, that here Daryl's family was all together, & I got to be a part of the festivities.

A Father you have been to my
Heart since that very day.
All families have Stories.
For some, such as myself, they carry truckloads of baggage.
I am sorry for my part in not sharing more about my life & I hope that this keeps paving ahead, as I become braver.

Thank you for helping to make the journey home shorter, & lighter. Loving wholeheartedly when it was time to celebrate our marriage. & the wisdom, courage and heaps of love you now share with (y)our (grand)children.
Happy Birthday, Celebrating 60 years!!

I love you, Dad.


Sunday, October 16, 2011

Creating a habit

I unravel sweaters to re-knit almost every time. Notes aside, if the sweater is not perfect, I start all over again.

It is an artful expression from deep within. Taking time for every little stitch, to be well thought through & presented with ease.

When my Grandma first showed
me how to hold the needles, we
would sit across from each other. Her right hand strong, my lefthand dominating.
To knit one scarf: Took over 7 years. & then over again as I tried to learn the
Art well.

As we waited by Grandma's side those last days of her full life, I would knit..for hours. Though she was right there & I by the bedside. The knitting brought those last hours of
Peace within our time.
Around & around we turn the full cycle, merry go round in life. No one knows how the inner workings of a brain works but as I found out today: being an ISFP personality suits these aspects just as a fine tuned piano.

Over the next weeks I am inviting Daryl to join me, to accompany my words with his own music. We will start on his Birthday. October 21. The day we met 16 years ago.
I am honored that he will be here in this space with me. If you know him, this expression is as much kept to the private inner workings of his life as the music that flows through to compose his Own piece.
The idea for this season is a reflection of

Friday, October 14, 2011

Planting memory seeds

Today, in memory of lost little footprints, I want to take another day to enjoy building childhood memories.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.

Psalm 139

Sunday, October 02, 2011

What if..

I had a nightmare once that I woke up with only my supper from the night before.
Sitting at the table staring at day old perogies, with nothing to be thankful for now..
What if I woke up without the children I have watched grow every day, some hours feeling like eternity.
Without the husband, who is a strong devoted, faithful father. Who I argue with sometimes.
Without the house, with the comfy furniture.
& the table that occasionally has a meal that almost everyone would rather not eat.
Without the bed that I have tossed & turned in and sometimes curse at how uncomfortable the pillow is, or loud the snoring is.
Without the mounds of food waiting for me to cook, even when I second guess my abilities.
There are more than a million things, or acts we can be thankful for.
When our neighbors are waking up from earthquakes, tsunamis, landslides, floods: They are praising the Lord for life.
Soldiers are not returning, leaving hearts aching.
Children are being stolen, tearing apart the consciousness & causing insanity that no parent should ever have to fathom.
Homes are being repossessed, leaving families homeless. Domestic violence is continuing, creating memories that torment children for a lifetime.
Stories being told of hidden lives, burning histories & daily grace.
What if we just woke up everyday..