Almost the end of November and still no 'family website' up and running. Hmmmm, maybe it's because I have to teach Lily how to write a persuasive essay; or it could be that I have to read every book she wants or has to so we can discuss it; or maybe it's because we both stare at her math problems while I desperately try to code switch between geometry and decimals. What is UP with grade 6?? Zoe is still 'big poster project' for almost every subject, and as long as John can glue some Lego to his tinker toys and call it problem solving; it's all good. But the 11 year old? I get to teach her how to argue effectively about why she should get to read (and thus make me read) teen fiction.

But I am so blessed today. It is simple. We are fine, healthy, prosperous and destined for Heaven. My pains are tiny; little gifts of patience and joy come directly in proportion to the trial. It's an attitude of keeping my hands open and my eyes directly on our Hope. Nothing is impossible here.

sweet and low

This past week has been a mixture of extreme highs and deep valleys. We climbed a mountain and John said he felt like he had just been born. On the way down, as I tried to slow his pace he said, "Mom, I just HAVE to let my feet go so I can fly!" And so I let him. I soul searched and dreamed big dreams- and had a few tantrums for lack of concrete vision. It was high times. Then I tripped over some silly fears and confusion; bad, bad news from all sides; talked myself and everyone around me into knots and finally crumpled up on the rug after losing hours of work. Deep blue lows.

But how sweet it is to find the gems while sitting in the dirt.Tears wipe the mind clean and clear as the 'let go' comes like a wave.

Back to the basics. I think it's time paint again. Maybe I can even fly.

dreams

I will be honest. Fear wants to eat me up and spit me out and then lick up the crumbs and wipe his mouth with the back of his gnarly hand. Almost every day. Some days Rescue Remedy works to sooth some pretty aching morning nerves fueled by nightmares that just reveal what's going on behind the thin curtain. Sometimes I like that cup of coffee I'm not really supposed to have. And sometimes, I just grab the nearest kid and hug them until they can't breath and beg me to stop; and I land half a dozen kisses before they pull away.

Because it's a crazy, messy, bloody planet that we live on; where Love is the victor before we even say yes.

I will stay out here for as long as I can. I will walk and sigh and weep and smile at that girl digging a ditch. I will dream of building that place of refuge on the mountain where I know Jesus walks; where he has called me out to - if I could just get there. I will get blood on my hands and know what sorrow and suffering are and KNOW that I am weak. Love will win again and again; extravagant displays of affection and generosity in a war zone.

Love, back me up.

cyber freak out

Ok, soooo three months since the last post. It's been so long that I almost forgot how to sign in; then I was greeted with a new look to blogger, with none of the buttons in the places they were before.

(Pause for a few drops of rescue remedy).

Seriously, I am between laughing and crying. I have been trying to get a new family website together; I am starting to wonder whether my motivations for making it are to communicate with people back home, or desiring to flash player us up into a hip and happenin' party of five, all current and media-savvy. I have spent the morning sourcing the differences between Wix and Wordpress (what do you mean there is a Wordpress.org and a Wordpress.com????!) on various forums, and I don't understand a word of the conversation. In fact, I think the people on these boards are like a cats batting mice around (me), before they strike a deadly tech-speak blow that has their prey just give up and die to social media claws.

This whole experience leaves some questions hanging in the slightly lighter recesses of what's left of my mind this morning; on my deathbed, will I regret that more people had no idea what I was up to on most days? Or can I just relax, get offline, and go hike the hills and breath deep; experiencing real living instead of just looking great in 2 dimensions?

A Tale of Two Births

My beautiful friend gave birth to her precious son today.

He spent his last day in the womb in a wonderful photo-shoot with his beautiful mother; full of fabrics and colour, sea wind and Holy Spirit air. Later, he decided it was time to come, while his beautiful mother was holding hands with her lovely children in a game of ring around the rosy; giggles and sing song mingled with a love song planned before the foundation of the world.
He was born at home into the hands of his father, with caring midwives, cradled and fed, loving words, tears of happiness, as his brother and sisters were wrapped into the arms of their cousins close by.
'Happy Birthday little one', sings a chorus of angels.

A beautiful woman gave birth to her precious son today.

He spent the last day in the womb in a terrible battle; full of yelling and insults, in a strange apartment. Later, he almost suffered violence as his father tried to kick where he lay; while his beautiful mother cried; tears and mourning mingled with a love song planned before the foundation of the world.
He was cut from her womb into the hands of a doctor, with bright lights and fears of mingling blood, a selfless midwife praying her heart out in the hallway; where is her family? The word 'HIV' hanging unspoken in the Holy Spirit air.
'Happy Birthday little one', sings a chorus of angels.

3 seconds

It is late. The kids are in bed. The neighborhood is unusually quiet. Thoughts are drifting through.The pile of textbooks beside me haven't been opened for a week now; I am getting behind - but - life. Life. We are so blessed to let this word define the colour in our day, the movement, or pace of activity, what we see out of the window as we drive along and Spring turns into summer. For some, though, it is the essence of what they are fighting for, protecting; running a race against time as they give up everything, for

Life.

Every 3 seconds, a child is aborted in this country. 30,000 a day. Most are a result of policy. Forced.

Mother's that long for children; love the one's they have, but conceive outside of permission. Forced. 3 months, 8 months; it doesn't matter.

Life.

And the one's that protect it? Fines. Can't pay? Lose their homes, businesses, and identity, and freedom. Who stands on the wall and cries out for justice?

Life. How I love Life!

Sunday

I went walking on Sunday; I was not really happy about it. I was tired from the day before and aggravated at the kids for even wanting breakfast. So I left, and started to weave my way through the Sunday wanderers, looking mostly at the ground because I didn't feel like making eye contact with all of the the people who probably thought I was still in my pajamas. I just wanted to walk it off.

I headed up Bei Chen Da Dao, which is a main artery, loaded with trucks coming from various construction sites and farms. Such a crazy mix of pollution and honking, as everyone has the right of way. But today, the honking behind me was different, people were just laying it on; so I looked behind me, and saw a car parked right in the middle of the road with it's trunk open. There was a bundle on the road behind the car, and my first thought was, 'Something has fallen off his roof...or...out of his trunk?'... My pace slowed and I went to the edge of the sidewalk to take a better look.

It was the crumpled body of a woman lying on the road.

Huge trucks and taxis were weaving around this scene, and people were beginning to line the road at a safe distance. Ok, I must cross the road and see what's going on, legs, cross the road!, and waited for a small break in traffic, with my head screaming that  people get hit by the cars trying to go around an accident while they are running to help. And in China, vehicles will take whatever escape route they can, as fast as they can. I saw my chance and ran for it, glad that the silver BMW in the middle of the road offered some shelter from the front.
She was in bad shape. There was a trickle of blood coming from her mouth and nose, her elbow was bleeding, and her eyes were rolled back. She was softly moaning. I straightened out her legs and rolled her a bit to her side; at that point noticing the pool of blood that was beginning to form on the concrete at the back of her head.
Jesus, help me!
A young man of about 30 was also crouched down, looking at her but obviously not knowing what to do. He told me that he had called the ambulance and the police. I asked him if she had been hit by a car, he nodded. 'Your car?', I asked...he didn't answer. I called Kyle and told him to get to where I was. I wasn't sure that he could do anything either, except his Chinese was way better than mine.

Time stretched out as people took the opportunity to gather around us and murmur to themselves. I put my jacket under her head and took her pulse. I noticed that she was wearing a pretty jade bracelet. Her hand was so smooth and soft. The people around were discussing moving her to the side of the road and I put my arms firmly on her body, indicating that they were not going to do any such thing. She struggled a bit under my arms, convulsed and threw up a mixture of blood and...
'Oh God, is that tissue??'
all over my hand. It reminded me of the warm slippery wetness of handling a newborn baby.
'Where is the ambulance??', I asked the people, my voice wasn't calm anymore. 'Please, can we take her to a hospital? She needs a hospital NOW! I will pay!' They just continued to look at me, not unsympathetic, but unmoved to action by this foreigner yelling in the street.
'Jesus, I don't want her to die on me... I know what to do if she does, but it will be so much better if she just stays alive' I kept whispering over and over. 'Please keep her alive'.
An elderly man pushed his way through the circle and began to yell at me and wave his cane around. He was so upset, I thought for a moment he would hit someone. I heard 'Bu shir! Bu shir! Ta shir pungyou!, from someone. 'No! She's a friend!'.
Oh. he thought I had hit her. Rich foreigner. Fancy car. Was he her father?

Kyle arrived at the same time as the 'ambulance' (pretty much a large van with a stretcher). A couple of people who I assumed to be doctors began working on her so I stood up. Then I almost fell down, so I grabbed onto Kyle's shoulder. They scooped her up along with my jacket and put her on the stretcher. (oh, what about her neck! I winced.) The man in the silver BMW took Kyle's card and said he would call to let us know her condition. He didn't offer his phone number.
The old man with the cane begged me to forgive him for his mistake. I just shook my head and put my hand on him. Forget it. He got into the ambulance with the woman and it drove away.
I went over and sat on the scooter. Sure enough, the silver BMW had a broken windshield where the woman had hit it. I took out my phone and snapped a picture... license plate, windshield, pool of blood.

There is a lot of fear among the Chinese of helping someone in need, especially at the scene of an accident, for good reason; there is actually precedent that if you help, you are are assumed to be at fault, and therefore have to pay all of the bills, and possibly suffer incarceration. Recently, in Guandong province a two year old girl was hit by a car on a market street. No one wanted to help her for fear of being implicated, so she lay in the middle of the road and was run over again. She died. The story provoked such a cry of injustice that there is now a lawyer in Kunming who will defend anyone, free of charge, persecuted as a result of acting as a 'Good Samaritan'. Of course, being Canadian, I can't imagine acting in any other way, but the old man waving his cane in my face gave me a taste of what it may be like for Chinese who go out on a limb.

We sat on the scooter, getting ready to leave. Silver BMW guy ran up to us. 'Thank you so much for helping! He said. I will wait for police to come.
I hope so, I secretly thought.
'I want to pay for your wife's jacket.' he said. I shook my head.
'Mien fei'. Kyle told him. It's free.

Stories

I recently wrote this in an email to a friend, and the phrase 'Prophet of Beauty' has been ringing in my ears since; so I thought I would post it.

I so need to cry on someone's shoulder almost every day... so glad Jesus doesn't mind getting wet. There is a neighborhood is this city that is so poor, that the parents have no one to watch their kids when they work; 200 children have gone missing into trafficking since 2004. Another woman has been pregnant 8 times, no money for diagnostic ultrasound of gender in early pregnancy, but still 4 aborted girls. Another woman picks through the garbage, mentally disabled but married for sexual use; many children, one daughter has gone missing. We picked up a 65 year old man on the corner who had fallen over and gashed his head open. Starving and dehydrated, with no eyes, he was trying to make a living begging to send home money to his wife. And on and on.

But Jesus is a Prophet of Beauty, and He hangs out in the dumps and brothels and ghettos. He speaks life over every one of these people through us and brings them into His own home and baths them; loves them. But when we are silent, He stands in the corner of the vacant lot and just cries and cries. 

He is beautiful, so beautiful and He always wins. 

Prayer

In the months before we left Canada again, we posted four names up on our wall at home. These names belonged to the four most powerful policy-makers in the province that we would soon be headed into. Every time we looked up at these four names, we would pray for these particular men. We would pray for their health, for understanding, for guidance. Most of all, we would pray that these four men would have an encounter with God that would change their lives and give them wisdom and courage to govern under the leading hand of the Holy Spirit. That mercy and justice would spread throughout the land under their leadership. That integrity and compassion would be valued above power and profit.


Prayer is not a trivial matter. It is not an exercise in futility that simply gives us a sense of comfort in the midst of circumstances that we cannot change. Prayer shifts atmosphere. Prayer cuts through the very fabric of what seems like reality and causes the power of Heaven to invade. Prayer writes history and changes nations. Prayer is a key, one that opens doors that no one can shut, and locks doors that no one can open.

In honour of the coming New Year celebration, I was invited out to a formal dinner by the government bureau that handles foreign experts here. I found myself led in the grand ballroom of the most luxurious hotel in the capital city. In the center of the opulent room was the large main table with white cards displaying the names of the people to be seated. In addition to the hosts, the consular-generals for five neighbouring countries were also in attendance. As I was led to the table off to the right reserved for foreign experts, I glanced at the card sitting in front of the head seat at the main table. On it was one of the four names.

As I sat and enjoyed the vast array of local delicacies, I watched what was happening at the head table. It was clear that deals were being forged as the participants engaged in the social protocols that define this region. I chatted with the others at my table and enjoyed my meal while praying softly under my breath. Here was one of these influential men, within range of line-of-sight prayer and I knew that the moment had been divinely orchestrated.

Near the end of the meal, this man came to our table to propose a toast. According to custom, he extended an official welcome and raised his glass. As we wished each other health and prosperity in the coming year, I followed protocol and dropped my glass of wine lower than his as we clinked glasses before draining them and displaying our empty glasses to one another. He then moved on to another table, and I sat thinking about the significance of the event.

For as long as the Lord leads, I will continue to drop lower and undergird this man in prayer. This country and region is at a critical juncture in its history. This year, 140 of the top 200 positions in government will shift to new people. Included in those, 7 of the 9 absolute highest positions will also change. Now is the time for prayer that righteousness would cover the land as the waters cover the sea. As important as the implications for this country and the rest of the world are, the state of this particular man`s soul is also precious to the Lord. I hope and pray that we will one day again stand together, toasting another new era, drinking a much more precious wine, smiling and showing each other that we left nothing behind.

Inroads

We were inspired by this phrase years ago, as it seemed to sum up completely what we had been called to do in the earth. A path into the deeper unknown; a word of connection and development into areas less travelled. A building together of ideas.

Then I looked up the definition.

Inroad: an advance or penetration often at the expense of someone or something.
for example < the army is finally making inroads into enemy territory>

 ...Yikes.

Other definitions spoke of invasion, incursions and hostile takeovers. We were peacemakers; wanting to work with communities to raise them up... this sounded downright colonial and I wanted nothing to do with it. But then the Spirit began to remind me...

"...I will build my church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it."

We do not create the road; it is already forged in the message of the Son of Man; King of the army in whom is the sure victory. It is a perfect defenition of a battle already won in Heaven, captives freed; lives restored and enemy overthrown. He is the Inroad.

I guess it's time to be a warrior

Here's a link to the nativity art...
http://veniteavedere.blogspot.com/2008/05/asian-christian-art.html

Becoming

Again, sitting and soaking, being thankful for hot water and deep tubs; my spirit and His began to weave together...

What are you becoming?

I let the question hang in my mind so that images slowly drifted toward idea. I always need a visual.

Wife and mother.

I had put her in a box so small that I realized shamefully I had never wanted to be that insignificant in my own eyes. So many other labels, I coveted.

Just wife and mother.

But all of the pioneering, seeking, devotion, sacrifice, fore running, laying down and surrender has led me exactly where I was made to be.

Wife and mother.

As every other pursuit and title has been laid down and burnt up on the altar, all that is left is this box.

Wife and mother.

And it's growing larger by the minute because now I am no longer blind; He has touched the eyes of my deepest heart; it's truest longing.

It is beautiful in it's becoming.

Gifts

I met someone yesterday.

I was sitting by myself, hunched over; my neck hurt and my bones were stiff. Alone again, on purpose and positioning my mind for the onslaught of familiar thoughts hurtling like javelins through the black.

'What if? Why not? How come? What now? I can't do it I can't do it oh why can't I do it? Past regret; future fear.

And then, all in a moment, I turned around and there stood Grace.

I had heard of Him, and often He would leave me invitations to come to tea, but ... I had never made it. Too busy banging my head against the wall and fighting the current.

But He stood there, and I knew. All in a moment, the tumult inside was calmed when Grace came in to live in the heart of my soul.

All in a moment, I fell madly in love with Grace.

And now, Oh, I am so thankful, so very thankful of my every moment... because what do we have but this moment only? It locks us into the gaze of Him eternal and Beloved. Only in this moment can I whisper 'thank-you' for my very present life and breath, and commune in a Holy pause of grace-filled gratitude.

May each moment now be like this.

A little Christmas decorating...

laying down

What is real sacrifice?

It is being a surrogate of a promise you thought your own. It is letting the Holy Spirit put a desire in you so strong that you fast and weep and pray and worship to break through to that place where you can touch it...

But then, just before you bring it into your arms, He says,

Will you lay it down? Will you put it on the altar?

‘What’? A heart is wrought in two.

There is one I long to know more.

“But you taught me to love this with all of my heart!”

They did not labour for it, they will not thank you for it...

“It is my promise, my vision, my proof of knowing You”

Can you lay it down so I can put in another’s embrace?

"I have birthed this into being, It is part of me!!"

But I will bring them closer to myself through it and be glorified.

Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of the Joy sitting before me. I see Him face to face and see those eyes that ask all of the questions to my heart. Will I truly give up in this life, even what He has cultivated in me, and be left poor in Spirit again? Will I receive blessing and abundance through my adoration only to immediately place it at the Lord's feet? Can a person really go so far into intercession so as to live and yearn, sweat and love, receiving only to sacrifice; saying, "He will provide?" Is this not love?

May I give up even what comes from His hands so that he can have all.
Oh Lord, make me willing!

Bleeding, sometimes bleeding.

dove's eyes

Ok, soooooo... I can't type fast. This is why I post about once a month. I know I should do something about that but there are so many other fun things to do...like, clean the bathroom.

I understand that most of the posts on this blog are of a personal, 'let me reveal what's going on inside' nature, it doesn't give anyone a real clue as to what's going on around us. So, I have decided to intersperse 'happenings' into the musings...

Kyle recently was gifted with a five day weekend, so we decided to get out of Dodge and go to Lijiang. It is made up of a new city and an old 800 year old town with original stone walkways along watercourses. Truly beautiful and inspirational, it belongs to the Naxi people group who have turned it into a tourist mecca while preserving the 800 year old feel of a mountain town. Think Banff only so much more ancient. The old town is a maze of stone streets, guest houses and shops with a view of the first steppes of the Himalayas.
We had an amazing time. I didn't realize how much I needed the break until we were there and I was thoroughly distracted from my own head. I had been spending so much time looking at the same four walls that my thinking kinda went sideways regarding some matters of my own heart.

I love this country, this people. I want to be turned inside out.

God is changing my mind about so many things. He is so loving and in love; do you know this? That you are the only person in the world for Him? Do you know what accepted in the beloved means? Are His eyes your mirror?

The truth of the mirror of God, is that if you try to look at yourself in it, you will see the sores and corruption; the rags and blood. You will bang on the glass in offense and weeping... or walk away in disgust, the law screaming, "unjust, unholy, unworthy!". Is there another Gospel that's out there? Another mirror? The offense in your heart will lead you straight to it... you will see whatever you want to here; the devil is a crafty wizard.

But, humble yourself under His gaze and look straight into His soul and you will see who you are... in His beloved. The eyes of my heart, are on You forever.

Have you seen my Beloved?

I had a dream once.

I was sitting at a table practicing writing my name over and over.
It wasn't the name I was born with, it was the chinese one I married into;
the paper was filled.
From behind me an arm reached out and a hand covered mine-
like you would to help a child. He said,
"No, that's not it, it's like this..."
and He moved my hand to write a completely different asian name.

I looked at the foreign letters and my heart said
I will take this name.
I stood up and turned and clung to Him.
"Then I will go where you go," I said.
"Your people are my people.


There is a Son of man out here that my heart loves. I look for Him in the streets and on the hills. I try to hear Him in words I don't understand; see Him in lovely dark eyes. My mind is slowly gazing on a fresh image of my Beloved, who is the Desire of this people, my people. And when the Spirit breathes into the matrix of these thoughts, I hear Him calling my new name.

Spiritual Mapping

The wells here are deep,
Full of living water;
Yet thirst prevails.

An enemy has marched in
And covered them over,
Disguised as progress.

Concrete shells now stand
In the place where children
Once peered beyond the veil.

Countless cars weave
Through teeming streets, unaware
Of blood-soaked earth below.

Yet the Spirit hovers,
Waiting and watching,
patient and resolute.

The seed of spent generations
Lies ready to flourish again;
A great harvest awaits.

To walk these streets
Searching for the heart of one;
How to release these springs?

The wells are deep
And the water is pure;
I for one will dig.

leaking

'Search my heart...'

I want- I long to be in the House of The Lord. To have what was before, and still is; without my physical self there.

'Search my soul...'

The melody takes me backwards and it just pierces me and rubs my nerves raw. I pulled the curtain strings tight around this place and have not even dared to tune my heart in that direction.

'There's nothing else, that I want more...'

To truly pour out my life, Lord, to you in that place. Why am I in this place???
But yet-

'With all my heart, with all my soul, with all I am... I will follow You...'

I will look up, I will get up and let the music rip it all open. I will bleed. Slow drips; a little leaking. Without them, God, I ache! But-

'Without You, I am nothing.
Without You, I am nothing.
Without You, I am nothing.'

Lord of the Landfill

When Jesus hit the earth, it was a landfill of refuse, stink, sin and brokenness. He was born amongst animal waste, grew up in a backwater town and journeyed through burning garbage outside the gates of Jerusalem year after year.

He did prenatals in the landfill. He took the least of us and monitored hidden heartbeats and said "Your fruit is good". He called us blessed and sons of God; inheritors of the earth.

Lord of the landfill.

He walked over sewage and sin and washed our feet, and when He was worshipped, the perfume went up to Heaven overcoming the stench of death in whitewashed tombs full of dead men's bones. Glorified, perfect Son of Man; bitten by fleas and covered with flies; crushing snakes and scorpions under His feet.

He walks the landfill touching and caressing fruit tucked away in His chosen; his hands seeking it out beneath layers of filthy rags. He does not use an instrument to distance himself from us, no; He puts His ear against our unclean bodies, so the sweet rhythms of promise just forming can echo through His entire soul.

I have seen Him walking here, even dancing; full of deep belly laughter as he draws them in. Kind eyes flashing, inviting, beckoning even...

"Will you come and live with Me here?"
"My Love, for that look in Your eyes, I would live here forever."
"Then Come!"
And I step out of the safety of the boat and begin to walk.
And then I unlock my eyes from His gaze and see and smell the circumstances.
And my heart begins to sink.
But He catches me up and stares straight into my soul and says,
"Don't be discouraged; you will walk on water."

I believe it.