For Alex, the last Valentine's gift you'll ever get.

My husband and I have argued about Valentine's Day for almost our entire relationship. It's been a source of contention for at least a week every year. Why? Well, up until just yesterday, I thought the reason we were arguing was because he was stubborn.

He refused to just be romantic on Feb.14. He claimed that the consumerism and expectation made the whole thing feel insincere. In his words, "It's a day people have to go out of their way with romance just to break even." His theory is that we shouldn't need a day, especially one that has so much unreasonable expectation wrapped up in it. He thinks we shouldn't be putting so much energy and money into something just because everyone else does.

Until yesterday, I strongly disagreed. Yesterday, as I prepared myself for dissapointment, I finally became aware that my dissapointment had only to do with expectations that were unreasonable in light of my husbands clearly stated opinion. Yesterday I realized every single thing he says actually lines up with my own core values and beliefs. Yesterday I finally understood that we really, truly, do not have to love eachother on the same days or the same ways as I percieve everyone else to. Yesterday I saw my husband for the first time again, and I saw the million ways he loves me every day.

My husband has never tried to teach me to use the espresso machine. He makes me lattes and has taught my children to use the espresso machine.

My husband gets up early with me once a week and makes breakfast for the living room full of teenagers that are my responsibility, not his.

My husband let me keep the puppy and several cats over the years.

My husband, who is an introvert, has fully embraced my intentional-community lifestyle. We have been foster parents, had family live with us, had room mates and regularly host large gatherings in our home.

My husband makes gourmet standard meals for our family and the various other people I invite to live and dine with us.

My husband, though he will not move into a van with me when the kids move out, has agreed to let me park it in his driveway.

My husband worked hard as a blacksmith to provide financially for our family for twelve years and allowed me to stay home with our kids as I wanted to. Then, when we moved and life changed, my husband put his dream of owning his own blacksmith shop on hold. He is now home-schooling our kids so I can work full time with YoungLIfe, my dream job.

Last night, my husband asked me not to order food when I went out with some ladies because he wanted to make me a snack when I got home. The day before Valentine's Day, my husband cooked me lobster, in spite of his strong feelings, sacrificing his stand on an issue, to love me the way my expectations demanded. He is so good to me.

So, on this Valentine's Day, 2014, I am blogging my last Valentine's gift to this amazing man. I am putting this in blog form so I can't take it back and my friends will hold me accountable should I complain in future years.

Alex, I commit to never expect or demand romance just because of Valentine's Day again. I will surprise you with affectionate gifts and gestures throughout the year, for no reason in particular, with no expectations attached, just because I love you. And if, for some unforseen reason, we should find ourselves in need of a specific day to remind us to express our love again, I will make up my very own holiday just for that purpose. It will have nothing to do with anyone else, or even with how I expect you to love me back. It will just be my holiday, just to remind me to love you without expectation of reciprocation. Just like you do for me everyday.

Happy Valentines Day!

Trying to remember

Today is a day of Remembrance so I am trying to remember...

I remember the history books that tell me that war has been a part of the human race for longer than the written word existed and that once words were written, they were often written by the victors.

I imagine, because I can't remember memories I have never shared, what it must have been like for my Grandfathers to march off to war, marching away from their families, marching alongside those who would not march back with them. Following orders in battle against other men following orders.

I remember all my uncles and cousins who bravely followed those footsteps to keep safe the freedom of their country and loved ones. I am grateful for the good fortune that sees them safe today.

I remember the countless men and women who came back and yet never came back. Whose hearts were far more broken than their bones and bodies. The warriors who came back and never stopped battling the shadows of the wars they brought home with them.

I remember the men, women and children in our very own free country who, because of their origin, were removed from their homes and placed in camps out of fear they might become traitors.

I remember the parents and spouses and children who gave their loved ones, in this country and the countries of our enemies and I imagine it is not always so black and white for them. Or maybe it is, maybe it is even more so. I remember that I can not possibly begin to understand, so I will keep remembering to remember.

I remember Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the decision he made to conspire to assassinate a tyrant. He was unsure if his soul could be pardoned for murder, yet saw no other way to prevent thousands from dying. I remember that he was willing to live, willing to die, and finally, wrestling with his own faith and nature, he was willing to kill for what was right.

I remember Cambodia. I pray, in tears, for the country filled with children who have become the collateral damage of wars fought by other countries. For children who have become nothing more than a commodity to the wealthy pedofiles in free nations. I remember these children and cling to the hope that peace is possible. That the whole world will realize that the price of war is too high.

I remember that just because we are safe in our beds every night night, victors who have won our freedom, does not always mean we are the heroes. I remember this and pray for the wisdom and discernment of our leaders who have such a huge weight of responsibility. Those who decide when bombs are dropped and men are sacrificed and violence is necessary. I do not always agree with their decisions, in fact I often don't, but I respect their willingness to bear such a great burden.

I remember the radical peace-seekers who are teachers and missionaries and doctors and travellers doing their very best to find another way, to be creative, to look for glimmers of hope in hopeless situations. Giving their time, financial security, energy, sometimes their sanity, health and even their lives to mend the the unbearable brokenness found in the world. I remember those who don't just talk or type about peace, but lose themselves in search of it.

I remember that while we have the freedom to have our little Facebook arguments about whether or not TOMS is really helping people, while we complain about the new iPhone update, while we protest whether the poppies we wear should be red or white, while we whine about the cold or the heat or the snow or the rain or prices of gas, wars rage on. Many over the price of gas we complain about. I remember that our brothers and sisters are still being wounded and killed over causes they may or may not agree with. I remember that bombs are being dropped on human beings who may or may not have committed a crime. I remember that children are taking up arms against children because they are hungry and cold and someone with guns and an agenda has offered them food and shelter.

And then I remember, even if just for a moment, to stop complaining because I really have no idea how good I have it.

And then, after all that, I just try to remember, the best I can, to honour the intentions and heartfelt sacrifices of anyone, across this whole planet, who has laid down their life for the sake of others.

My heart heavy and my mind just a little confused of what my role is in all this mess, I finally remember this promise; "....and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

Speaking of the kindness cure.....

This was floating around my Facebook page yesterday. It may or may not be true, I didn't research it. I reposted because I think it's beautiful.

"When a woman of the Ubuntu African tribe knows she is pregnant, she goes to the jungle with other women, and together they pray and meditate until you get to "The song of the child." When a child is born, the community gets together and they sing the child's song. When the child begins his education, people get together and he sings his song. When they become an adult, they get together again and sing it. When it comes to their wedding, the person hears his song. Finally, when their soul is going from this world, family and friends are approaching and, like his birth, sing his song to accompany him in the "journey".

In the Ubuntu tribe, there is another occasion when men sing the song. If at some point the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, they take him to the center of town and the people of the community form a circle around him. Then they sing "the song." The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment, but is the love and memory of his true identity. When we recognize our own song, we have no desire or need to hurt anyone.

Your friends know "your song". And sing when you forget it. Those who love you can not be fooled by mistakes you have committed, or dark images you show to others. They remember your beauty as you feel ugly, your total when you're broke, your innocence when you feel guilty and your purpose when you're confused."



I love the bit about reminding a person of their identity. It really made me think of the people I have worked with who have a criminal record or struggle with addictions. They are constantly reminded of their poor choices and even encouraged and required to identify themselves by their past. I wonder how our justice system could change and incorporate the idea of reminding, especially young offenders, of their identity outside of their mistakes. We could even keep this idea in mind when dealing with kids.

When Levi was in grade 4, he made an unfortunate decision at lunch time. I got a call from the vice-principal to tell me that he pushed a girl down amidst a group of boys. I was shocked, hurt and angry that Levi would even do something like that. When he was three, he was pretending to be a puppy at playgroup and accidentally bit another kid's finger. When he realized what had happened, Levi cried harder than the other little boy. How could my compassionate boy deliberately cause harm to a little girl?!

I drove to pick him up and on the way I prayed. I had no idea how to handle this, it was such a foreign issue. I thought I had done enough preventative parenting for this sort of thing. I asked God to grant me wisdom that day.

When I arrived, my son's face was a mix of defiance and disappointment. He got into the van and we drove in heavy silence as I continued to pray. "Levi, why did you do that today?" "The boys told me too. I want to be their friend." Ah. I understand that motivation. "Levi, all your life there will be opportunities to be a hero or a villain. What did you choose today?" "Villain" was his teary reply. "And, Levi, who are you really?" "I want to be a hero, Mom." "I know, Levi."

The conversation became about why Levi is such a great kid. He had so many people who loved and respected him so much at such a young age. Why would he change that for the respect of a few kids that would never really care about who he really was?

I did not discipline Levi in any way that day. There was absolutely no need. He, of his own accord, wrote that little girl an apology letter. We "sang his song" together that day in the van and it was very effective.

Other than my one story of Levi, I have no scientific studies to prove the value of this idea. That being said, I wonder how many other people in my life would benefit from hearing "their song" when they have failed, hurt someone, or even me. It is something worth contemplating as we brush shoulders and bump into each other. It is an attitude worth cultivating in a world filled with justification, entitlement and the rights of self.

Here's to all the Mama's!

Here's to the Mama's. All the Mama's...

Here's to the women whose wombs never grew round and full with babies, either by choice or circumstance, who still choose to kiss boo-boo's, wipe bottoms, hold hands and dry tears.

Here's to my single, childless friend, who is a mother to many children in Africa, standing guard for them against apathy and demanding better of the rest of the world.

Here's to my friend who already had four of her own and adopted one more because she had more room in her house and in her heart.

Here's to the too many friends who are raising their kids on their own without the partnership of the other parent. They are so brave and so enduring.

Here's to my friend who has seen two of her sweet sweet babies leave this world so soon after they arrived and still managed keep her faith and her gentle spirit.

Here's to the foster moms we have met that love other people's children so well and so completely only to let them go. They choose to repeatedly allow their hearts to be broken in hopes of protecting the little hearts of many.

Here's to the lady in the parking lot of Save-On who threw a snowball at me just because. I don't know her and can't even remember what she looked like, but boy that was fun!

Here's to every neighbour, teacher, friend or stranger who encouraged or taught me. Who didn't give up on me when I was a cheeky kid, restless pot-head or pregnant teenager.

Here's to my husband's mother who raised the most honest, gentle and wise man I know. She taught him to be faithful in everything and to celebrate his uniqueness. He has passed both along to my children.

Here's to my Mama. She is tough as nails on the outside and soft as kittens on the inside. She loves deeply and fiercely and she taught me to do the same.

Here's to me. I started the mama thing a little (OK a lot) earlier than most, but my kids seem to be doing alright in spite of my inexperience.

Here's to all the Mamas. All of us who nurture the shy ones, redirect the willful ones, and taught the weird ones to relish their weirdness. All of us who cheer for sports we never liked watching. All of us who pray desperate prayers in the dark clinging to threads of hope. To all of us who fail, who succeed, who give up, who try again, who just hang in there.

Happy Mother's Day.

Speaking of kindness......

About three and a half years ago, Alex and I were at a Lifelinks conference in Medicine Hat when the weirdest thing came out of his mouth. "I think we need to plant a church." My response was quick and not well thought out. "You're on crack."

Just for clarity sake, I will state here for the record, that Alex wasn't, nor has ever been on crack. I have been informed that my less than well thought out remarks may have been the cause of certain rumours. Moving on....

My response came largely from the fact that we were seven years in to a church plant in Cranbrook. We weren't the visionaries, but we had been there from the beginning and participated in hashing out the first mission statement. We looked for places to rent, hauled concrete, painted walls, and served in every possible ministry over the course of those seven years. After all those years of sweaty tears and hard work, it was getting really good.  Why leave only to go back to the beginning again? Seriously. Why?

Well, Alex, being the gracious man he is, would occasionally try to start up the conversation but didn't press the issue when I walked away, or closed doors on him, or stared blankly back at him as though I didn't speak English. He waited.

About six months later, around this time of year actually, I was woken up around 2:30 in the morning by a very vivid dream. I was surrounded by kids and their parents, gardening and building fences. It was sunny and warm, our faces and hands were dirty and we were content. Somehow I knew this dream took place in Kelowna, though I had never been there. That I remembered anyway. As I woke up, I realized Alex was wide awake next to me. "If I was to agree to plant somewhere with you, where would we go." At the time his answer was frightening to me. "Kamloops or Kelowna" I did not answer.  I did not immediately tell him about my dream. I simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

Fast forward a few years, a few life lessons, a few mental, emotional, and spiritual growth spurts and we finally moved to Kelowna. We began in March to meet with a group of people wanting to explore the idea of a missional faith community together. It's been good. It's been a stretch. It's been an adventure. Today it began to be a fulfillment of a dream.

Today LRC (Love Revolution Communities) descended on our sketchy fourplex, weeded, mowed, planted, cleaned and built garden boxes for the families who live here. Children dug in the dirt, played with bubbles, and coloured the cement all around the house with sidewalk chalk. Long after we leave here, LRC will have left an impression.

Now here we are, sitting at our kitchen table with a visiting friend and I am reflecting on the day. God is so incredibly, richly good to us. We are surrounded by beautiful people with enormous hearts and kind spirits. Sometimes I miss my childhood home and my heart sits aches a bit in my chest as I go about my life here. Not today though. Today my heart is full, content and satisfied to see this journey through.

The cure of Kindness ~ 6

It works for everyone

It's not a secret. I love Jesus wholeheartedly and try live my life, as integrally as I can, in light of that. That being said, sometimes Christians really bug me. We occasionally claim something as being entirely our domain when it does belong to and function for everyone. Take kindness, for instance.

My kindness story.

As disclaimer before I begin. I loved my parents dearly. For all of their faults, they were good people, Sick perhaps but not evil.

I am a child of Alcohol and Abuse and Neglect. My father was a violent alcoholic, my mother was depressed and played a victim role very well. My parent's parent's before them for generations I am sure, created a normalcy of violence and abuse. It was just the way it was.

I was tiny and most likely dirty too, my hair was unkept and my teeth were unbrushed. My clothes did not fit and were often unmended. I probably did not smell so good. I was bullied at school. I was the flea bag (remember the flea bag? We all do, even if we don't want to admit it.) My life was a living Hell but seriously I didn't know any different.

My Oldest brother died of Alcoholism. My next older brother is on his way there too. By all accounts and statistically I should be in the same boat. I am not. I lead a rich and full life, have a great career and a wonderful family.

Mrs F., the lady down the street, took me under her wing and as a result I got to see how a functioning family worked. She was/is a kind woman. I was able to be at her house as much as I wanted to be. I had chores, and by watching the respect that the people in her family showed each other I was able to copy that behaviour. Her firmness and discipline came out of a place of deep kindness and respect.

We moved away from Mrs F. when I was 10. I watched as my sister and my parents fought and she moved in with her abusive boyfriend, who she would later marry and who would eventually make her life unbearably miserable.

I Isolated myself in my own little world and through school met a few friends, One in particular who was brave enough to tell me that I needed to brush my teeth and wash my hair. She literally showed me how to find clothes that would fit, how to run the washer and dryer. My circle of friends grew and they forced me to learn how to order at MacDonald's, which doesn't sound like that big a deal unless you are so afraid all of the time that you cannot function. My friends did this out of kindness. My friends were kind. I don't know how I would have made it through adolescence without them.

Then there were the teachers who made a difference in my life.

Mr G. my music teacher who once again with firmness and respect demanded the best from me. He had faith in me and in my talent, made me believe, truly believe that I was talented and smart. With a firmness based in kindness He told me to “suit up and show up, keep at it, your dreams are worth it and you are worthy.” His kindness no less than saved my life.

Mrs. G. my grade 10 social studies teacher who looked the bullies in the eye and told them 'enough' I was safe in her classroom and excelled academically for the first time in my life.

Mr. W. whose class I showed up to because the above mentioned teachers made me feel I could do anything I wanted to do. When I darkened the door of his A stream English class – which was WAY over my head - he made me feel welcome. Never once belittled me for my lack of grammar and inability to put a sentence together let alone spell. He talked to me privately and lent me basic english text books to use on my own time. He DID make my C+ at the end of term feel like the Order of

Canada! He allowed me to do homework for other classes while our class was having discussions (ADD does have an upside) so I didn't have to fall behind because goodness knows the course load in his class was something that I was surely not used to.

There is the kindness from two of my friends, L. and M. whom I recruited to join me in this English class so that I would not be alone. We discovered the English Language together, the three of us, with Mr. W.'s help

The kindness of my Husband. Ahhh, the kindness of my husband. I remember being with his bickering family for the first time and being so afraid and he put his hand on my back and whispered in my ear “Nobody is going to hit anybody” Those were the most magnificent words I had ever heard.

The kindness of people changed the course of my life! The odds say I should not be where I am today. I would not be here if it had not been through the kindness of others. I try to pass this kindness on in the work that I do and in my every day dealings.

Yes the world is full of evil, we can choose to dwell on that and throw our arms up in the air and say 'whatever' but I choose not to. I choose to be kind.

And by the way, for information's sake, I am an atheist just in case anyone was wondering.

The Cure of Kindness ~ 5

   Taking the cure seriously

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." There is a reason that the greatest is love. Love heals. It challenges. It hopes. It believes. It inspires. It builds. It creates. It never fails. I know, I know, that's so idealistic. If it irks you, to bad, that's where I live. :) Today's is a story of why love is the greatest.

  As a probation officer - I see a lot of negativity on a regular basis. I know many in the same job are jaded and do not believe the things that I do. 
   The amazing thing is that this job has been humbling and inspiring when it comes to kindness, and the effect that has on a life. 
   I have one client in particular that I am thinking of, who can't be named for obvious reasons. He came to me after being in jail for a significant amount of time. He was utterly broken, anxious and physically ill from his time in prison. 
   A few people in town, including a pastor, a mental health worker and myself have shown kindness to this man since he has been released from jail, and I have watched him make many positive changes in his life. Last week he called me and told me how his life changes have been possible only because of the few positive supports that he has in his life. 
   He has started to attend a bible study with a pastor in town, he is clean from drugs and alcohol and he has made some really tough choices to better himself. 
   He tells me that the only thing that has changed is the fact that he has people in his life that are showing him kindness for the first time in his life. When I look at the difficult decisions and sacrifices that he has made, it humbles me. He is thanking me for putting in an extra 15 minutes here or there, and how that is something that he hasn't been given in the past. 
   Another coworker of mine gave this man his belt because his pants didnt fit anymore and he has no money. No alterior motive, just kindness. The effect that that seemingly small act had in this man's life is something difficult to wrap your mind around. 
   Some people have never been shown love and kindness. And sure, this man may still make some negative choices in his life, but these kindnesses stay with you. Everyone has the ability to drastically change another persons path through small acts of kindness. 
   This isn't the end of the struggle for him. But he doesn't know the effect he has on me when he calls and is doing well and breaking a cycle of addiction and abuse. 
  My clients inspire me daily, I work with marginalized people who only need someone to show them a little bit of unconditional love. And it makes my day brighter when they succeed.
 
  Alyssa

More stories are always welcome. Share yours by emailing little_mother_@hotmail.com.

The Cure of Kindness ~ 4

Just a dash of hope at the finish line

We have all heard the horrific stories of the past week. The fear, the carnage and the questions have permeated the news. Why bomb a marathon? Why children, families and people who run? I have no answers for things that make very little sense, however I do have a story. There were many stories of heroism, sacrifice and strength that day. This is a story of a small kindness that made a big difference to one woman. It stands out to me because I, like the man in this story, also work for the organization of YoungLife. My friend here in kelowna sent me this story and I am affirmed in my belief that I belong to a very cool community of people who love at every opportunity. Follow this link and read on.

The cure of kindness - 3

Timely Kindness

Kindness and community are treasures anytime, but there are certain moments when they mean so much more. When we are lonely, struggling and feeling hopeless, an infusion of kindness alters our perspective and lights up the darkness that threatens to consume. Here is a story from a friend of a friend. Although I have never personally met this woman, we share this common experience; kindness has brought hope in hard times.

Several years ago we went through a dark season in our family. My husband had lost his job. He became very depressed, which meant that he really struggled finding a new one and became very uninvolved at home. Christmas was coming, EI had run out, and my husband was working very part time. Our finances were unbelievably tight, plus our home situation was very bleak, with commitments at church, I didn't even have time to prepare, such as tidy the living room to put up the tree or bake cookies with my kids.

God started answering prayers I didn't even know how to pray. I couldn't afford to buy my husband a Christmas present and didn't have time to make one, but then I won a print from his favourite comic strip. A friend showed up at our door with a Christmas tree, cleaned our living room, and set up the tree with the kids. Then two days before Christmas, I was trying to figure out how I was going to find time to get to the store so that my family would have dinner on Christmas Eve and breakfast Christmas day. (The irony of my life - I was so busy planning a dinner for 100 homeless people that I couldn't find time to shop and feed my own family!)

Then the local police department showed up at our door. They blessed us with a Christmas hamper. As well as the traditional turkey dinner and gifts for the kids, it included extras such as a quiche that became Christmas Eve dinner, croissants that became Christmas morning breakfast, and it even had cookies my children could put out for Santa on Christmas Eve.

These three examples are the biggest ones of a season where everywhere I turned I found myself reminded that Christmas started with God's gift to us, and He is still blessing His children.

Elouise Simms

If you are someone you know wants to share a story here, email me at little_mother_@hotmail.com. I will keep posting these stories until I run out!

The Cure of Kindness - Instalment 2!

It's the little things

I can honestly say that though grand gestures are a wonderful phenomenon and change lives, it's in the little moments of kindness that we realize how simple kindness can be for all of us. Sometimes it doesn't have to cost a ton of time or resources and the impact is still greater than you realize. Here is a story of such thoughtful actions from a young friend of mine in university....

Hey Sarah, here is my story

  My story happened twice. The first time I was standing in line at my University's cafeteria with a coffee. The line was getting quite long as it usually does around lunchtime. The man a couple people ahead of me reached the till and proceeded to pay for about 5 of us. I think we mostly had beverages, or small food items. I was blown away by the generosity. The second time I was actually buying a meal and when I went to pay, the lady said, "done." When I gave her a confused look she responded with, "Someone has left their student ID with me to pay for people's food." It was almost the end of the spring semester, and if you do not use all your food money as a res student it just goes back to the Uni. I couldn't believe what had happened. It is amazing, but these small acts of love have impacted me greatly. I have not done anything quite so grand, but I have paid for a couple coffees of strangers. 

  My story is really quite short, but I still remember it every time I am in line at my University cafeteria
  

  Caitlin

If you or someone you know has a kindness story they would like to contribute, email me at little_mother_@hotmail.com. You never know how your story might brighten someone's day, or better yet, inspire brand new acts of kindness! 

The cure of Kindness - Day one

A basement, a bedroom and a impromptu indoor pool

I have asked my friends and readers to send in stories of kindnesses that have changed their lives or just their day. I have some, but am hoping for more to post this month so if you have one, please send it to little_mother_@hotmail.com. Please let me know if you want to remain anonymous or if I am free to publish your name here.

I thought to start I would share a story of my own. I am blessed to have many, but I have picked this one for today. 

A few years ago, we had a bizarre rainstorm in my hometown. It poured like nothing we had ever seen before. People were canoeing in the parking lot of the mall and rivers were running down the streets. It was incredible to watch the lightening and the sheets of water hit the ground. 

Unfortunately, the next day we woke up to find an indoor pool we hadn't ordered in our basement. The kids thought it was hilarious as we scrambled to find shop vacs and fans and call the insurance adjuster. As it turned out, we were one of the lucky ones who didn't have sewage pumping up into our basement from broken drains and even broken toilets. Though we were grateful beyond measure for the lack of floaters, it also meant that the insurance company would do nothing for us. 

Another important detail in this story was that we had a teenager staying with our already large six person family and another couple moving in a week to join us in our four bedroom house. Staring at my drenched basement carpet and drywall, while my children joked about building a sailboat made me want to scream. It was definitely one of those stop-the-world-I-want-to-get-off moments.

As Alex began shoving soggy books and ruined treasures into garbage bags, I did the only thing I could think of in the moment and called one of my good friends who owned a truck. 

"Can I borrow your husband and your truck for the afternoon?" "Sure, why?" "My basement flooded and its really bad. I need to take a few loads to the dump and start tearing apart drywall." "Sure thing. I'll send him right over." 

While Alex picked away at the basement, I headed to the hardware store for some work gloves and heavy duty garbage bags. I was gone for about an hour as I had stopped for a little private pity party on the way. By the time I returned, my house was full of about thirty people who I had varying degrees of relationship with. Some I barely knew. My friend, knowing how many people were about to live in our house, had rallied the troops on our behalf. Halfway through the afternoon, the basement was cleared, the soggy drywall had been cut away and complimentary pizza had arrived from the local pizza place owned by good friends. Even thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes.

When dinner was over, the men folk were sitting around and asked if we had anything else that needed to get done. Alex said he had been meaning to take out the old broken fireplace downstairs and lengthen the living room so we could add a wall for another bedroom. Well, they all lit up with the excitement of three year old boys in a new sandbox and started listing off who owned axes and sledge hammers. Luckily at that point I had to go to work so the demolition phase could happen without my fretting presence. 

Within a week, our house was better suited for our big family than it had been before the flood.

The great thing about this story is that it was not just our lives that this kindness effected. In the coming weeks, some of the people who had been invited to our house that day started opening up to each other with more vulnerability than they had had the courage to before. We got to participate in all sorts of kindnesses initiated by that group of people because one day my friend wouldn't settle for just sending her husband and his truck. That, my friends, is the great thing about kindness. It is contagious.

Cooperative social experiments!

I caught some flack for the ideas in my last post for various reasons. I will not address them all here, but I did think one was certainly worth the effort of testing. I will need your help to do so. Let me explain.

I was told that I am a naive idealist if I think that love can actually, tangibly conquer anything. I was told that the world IS a dark place and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change that and it is at best naive and at worst arrogantly presumptuous for me to think so. Fine. Challenge accepted.

As someone who believes in the bible and the message that Jesus lived, I firmly believe that heaven can be walked out right here, right now. My heart beats with the knowledge that God's kingdom is one of peace, love, kindness, gentleness and hope where no one is left lonely or wanting. And I believe that as a citizen of that kingdom, I get to live by it's rules right now.

If you don't believe in God (as the person who called me naive doesn't) thats OK. The evidence is all around us in social science. We know that abuse lives in cycles. Well, so does community. Hate produces hate, love produces love. Period.

So, believe with me or don't. I don't ask that you make the same presumptions I do, instead let's try something together. Let's just tell stories and see how that affects our thinking, motivations and beliefs about the darkness in the world. My request is that you send me some stories about how kindness has changed something in your world. My email address is little_mother_@hotmail.com. I will compile stories and begin to share them one a day starting in the middle of March. I will keep sharing them until we run out. I am hoping for four weeks worth of stories.

They don't have to be stories that changed you or your life in huge ways, maybe it was just a kindness that brightened a lousy day. If you want to share a story that belongs to someone else, either leave their name out or get their permission first. If you wish to remain anonymous, that's cool. If you want me to share your story verbatim and give you credits, you got it. 

Stories change and inspire me regularly. As we have been journeying through this year of transition and  deliberate loss and giving birth to new ideas, it has been stories that have kept me going. Hearing other people's stories has given me courage. Reminding myself of our own stories has given me endurance. Stories are fabulous motivators.

I am so looking forward to reading more stories from some of you, my friends and loved ones! Please don't be shy or cynical! Or, if you are, please just write me anyway!

The facebook dilemma

There are pivitol moments when parenting doesn't come with easy decisions. Your almost 13-year-old son approaching you asking to create a facebook account is one of those moments.

This happened to us in the summer as we were packing to move. Our son had very valid reasons to want to be connected online. We were moving away from the only home he had ever known and he wanted to be able to stay in contact with his friends and family.

My objections were just as valid.

At it's best, Facebook is a beautiful social platform from which healthy life-giving messages can be spread, loved ones can stay connected and share pictures and events, and old friends can be reunited. Facebook can be a place of inspiration with the best and simplest moments of mankind shared in a broad community. It can even be a place to find solace and feel like you are not alone when tragedy strikes. It can mobilize people toward common good and educate on global issues. At it's best, Facebook can be a wonderful tool.

At it's worst, Facebook can expose the worst in us. Pictures unintended to be shared can be posted by friends...or foes. Bullies can feel uninhibited without having to see the consequences on their victims faces. The mob mentality can run rampant with quick blame and venomous hatred when sad things happen and perspectives of real incidents aren't fully shared. We can feel justified in slipping a veiled word of insult into our statuses. We can even mistake a forlorn status update for genuine reaching out. At it's worst, Facebook is a breeding ground for the worst in us.

Navigating this online space with honesty, dignity, and discernment can be tricky even for us grown-ups. I can't shelter him forever and certainly he has a deep need to keep in touch with people he loves. Let's face it. His buddies probably aren't going to write him letters.

What tipped the scales for me was finding a box in his room with a T-shirt stretched over it. I was very upset and and told him it was irresponsible to destroy his T-shirt like that! He gave me a very stern look, "That box is inappropriate and that is irresponsible to have in here."

We had picked up boxes from the liquor store to pack with and hadn't bothered to look at what was on them. There is a particular brand of wine named after dogs of the feminine variety......

I pulled the shirt off the box and saw that he had tried to scribble over the word that offended him and couldn't black it out. So I asked him why he couldn't just put the box out of his room if it bothered him. Again, I was surprised at his response, "Right Mom, put it out where my little sisters will see it. Like that's responsible."

It was at this point that we decided Levi could open a facebook account. This kid has a pretty good navigation system of his own.

He knows how to use his words kindly and he knows how to remove things that could hurt someone's feelings from his wall. He talks with us about who he friends and knows he can talk to us about anything he sees there. His privacy settings are high. We have talked with him about the fact that Facebook basically means that his life is public record. What happens in Vegas, doesn't stay in Vegas anymore.

Alex and I know eachother's passwords. This keeps us accountable to each other and saves us from any temptation to say or do anything we wouldn't want the other to see. In the same way, Levi has shared his password with us. I don't care what anyone says about privacy, I value safe accountability higher than my privacy. This doesn't mean we snoop on each others Facebook accounts. Just knowing that someone who cares about us has access helps all of us to think carefully before we press the send button.

The funny thing is, after all of that begging and decision-wrestling and deal-making, he doesn't really use his account anyway. So now he is dealing with the facebook politics of people who think he is ignoring them just because he doesn't respond several times a day. Ah, Facebook.

Day 31

December 31

Finishing a year well

A few weeks ago our activity was to write "10 things I love about you" notes to each person in our family with the intention of opening those today. This gave us all the opportunity to see ourselves through the eyes of the people who know us best. But only the lovable parts. The parts that smooth over the rough patches. It is a way to say goodbye to the year past and yet bring with us the best of who we were into the new year. Because my parents were here as well, we each wrote a note for them to open with us. It was beautiful to hear my children's appreciation of each other. Some very wise and insightful words were spoken over the course of the evening. It was precious. My personal favourite from my envelope was, "I love your tummy, I lived there once." 

Resolutions so often give voice to what we see as weaknesses or faults in ourselves. We focus on where we faltered and promise not to do it again, only to be discouraged before February hits with our lack of endurance or will power. I am not certain that this is really the best way to begin a new season. There is plenty of time all year round to choose to be resolved about "fixing" oneself. For myself, this year I am choosing to honour the year that is ending and let it go. 

2012 was a year stuffed full and bursting at the seams with change. 

We spent the year pregnant with a dream that was ready to see the light of reality. We faced insecurities. We measured our worth in hours of work and then slowly passed on that work to other capable hands. We learned to measure our worth in different units. Then we learned not to measure it at all. 

This year we said more good-byes than we had ever before. We laughed louder and cried harder and embraced tighter. We let go of a life we had built for ourselves that was good and satisfying to find out what may lay just beyond the horizon of safety. We took a great leap and have yet to land.

This year exposed our weaknesses, flaws and intimate failures which left us raw and naked. We found the worst bits of ourselves hiding dormant in the recesses of our hearts, waiting for the tethers of comfort to be undone. We faced those bits with frustration and tears and conflict, until we came to accept them and understand them. Then, like shadows react to the sun reaching higher in the sky, they shrunk and didn't seem so encompassing.

This year we chose to trust God with everything and discovered the freedom of having nothing to lose.

So, we end this year grateful for good company, new friends and old friends. We release the wealth and health, frustration and failures of the past year and embrace the new one. With our children and my parents we honour the people we have been by sharing the parts we hope will go on. 

May 2013 be a year of incredible adventure and growth.

Day 30

December 30th

More Art Gallery Fun!

I know, I missed a few days. There was cooking and a Levi/Dad day and some other fun, but the important part has been that Grandma and Grandad Dalton have come to visit! We have been enjoying their company and introducing them to some of our favourite parts of Kelowna. 

Today, we spent the morning at Metro church because the kids really wanted Mom and Dad to meet Pops. He is the man Levi has been cooking with on Tuesdays. It was a very cool morning and the message was a good reminder about Jesus' yoke being easy. There is a significant temptation these days to pick up our burdens again. To be impatient. To falter in our faith and our beliefs about God's promises. This mornings message was the reminder I needed that it would be foolish and frustrating to stop trusting God.

After church and a nice lunch, we headed down to the art gallery for the weekly Sunday afternoon family craft. This week was New Year's resolution magnets.

From left to right,

Hannah's resolution is to do more abstract art.

Grandma's resolution is to smile more.

I made a matching set of resolutions for Grandad and I. I intend to keep the "don't worry" and send "be happy" home with Dad.

Alex's resolution is to find a way to keep blacksmithing.

Levi's resolution is to be kinder to his three sisters, depicted here as angels.

Shiloh's is to love more.

Selah's is to take care of Coco by herself.

I love the different mediums we all chose and how some of used words and some didn't. As parents, we hope to instil certain values and ideas that we believe are important, but we also try to make room for our children to become their very own selves. I appreciate that art has a way of magnifying our uniqueness. The Kelowna Art Gallery is quickly becoming one of my favourite places.

Day 22, 23, and 24

December 22, 23, and 24

A different kind of magic

(sorry about the cheese! 'tis the season!)

As we have approached Christmas Day, there have been several delightful surprises. Visitors stopping on their way to see relatives, pretty packages arriving from home and invitations from new friends have all served to make this season feel extra special. We are all very grateful for the warmth we have received this Christmas. In spite of all the visits and treats and fun, however, my favourite activity was tonight.

Every year, we are so involved with church parties and concerts that December seems to just fly past without much warning. This year has been so different. And quiet. It has been a bittersweet mix of missing the party and participation and relishing the slow pace and opportunity to reflect. One thing we have enjoyed entirely is the opportunity, for the first time, to create our own traditions. We have never experienced a total lack of expectations before. 

So tonight, we headed down to Metro. We served and ate dinner alongside the people of a beautiful inner-city community to celebrate the season. We smiled and shook hands and served coffee and cleaned-up. For three hours we watched from a distance as all four of our children genuinely grinned their way through an evening of hard work. At the end, I watched Shiloh give one of the two little stuffed animals she had just been given to an old man and tell him it was to make him happy. 

Before we got there, we talked with our kids about who Jesus really is and what he came to say. He taught that we should not invite only those to dinner who can in turn serve us a meal. He taught that it is the lowliest servant that is among the greatest of mankind. He set the example that love can heal, sooth, restore and conquer. He told us that we are capable of becoming like him.

We have very little to give this year. Even to each other. We could choose to feel sorry for ourselves or apologize to our children for not lavishing them with stuff, but we're not going to. This discomfort we are experiencing has grown us individually and as a family in ways we have never expected. We have learned that enough is so much less than we thought. We have learned that there is a measure of blessing in having nothing to lose. This is a life experience that is stretching all of us and our perceptions about what we need and what we have a right to. We have watched and seen that even someone with nothing has much to offer. I am not sorry about that. 

As we walked away from the dinner tonight, I listened to my children talk to each other about their evening. They expressed feeling content in a way they hadn't before. Levi said he wanted to remember that feeling for the next time he was grumpy or feeling sorry for himself. He said it was a special kind of contentment. I can learn a thing or two from these kids. I do learn, more than a thing or two, from these kids. 

To me, this is Christmas magic. That my children can see beauty and whimsy and meaning in having nothing to offer but themselves. That they can be filled with joy in spite of the present pile being significantly lower than in seasons past. I can not think of any gift I could open that would mean more.

An inspired extra

I am passionate about community, families and parenting. I suffer from a ridiculous and sometimes overwhelming sense of idealism. I really believe that if we break out of the humdrum of racing other humans and climbing ladders, we can change the world. Not by grand gestures and fundraisers and picket signs. Not that I am opposed to those things, but real lasting, healthy, healing change comes from the daily choices of everyday people. Choices to engage solutions instead of complaining about the problems. Choices to create bridges instead of building walls. Choices to bring hope and options instead of judgment. 

I met a couple at our last leadership conference for Lifelinks that seemed like kindred spirits. We became facebook friends and went our separate ways. Well, I came across this lovely lady's blog today and I am again inspired to cling to my optimism. I am not alone in it. These people are my kind of crazy. If you have any interest in kids, families, international issues, HIV, or just the goodness humankind is capable of, give it a read. Totally worth your time.