So, I guess that makes me old?

I have some admissions to make… first, I feel younger inside than out. Second, I guess I try to appear younger than I am. But the past few days have really hammered home the truth that I'm getting a little long in the tooth. Now that doesn't mean I'm going to start dressing like my mother (bless her heart), nor do I want to chop off my hair or anything that drastic, but maybe I should be a little more realistic with myself?

So, it started last week when I was anticipating some friends dropping over for coffee. I rushed around the house to de-clutter things, hide things, dust and vac. quickly, and then as a final touch I thought I'll just spray some 'Febreeze' on the couch and rugs to have that fresh scent as they first enter the door. (A little background here… these same friends told me on their last visit that my home "smelled funny", and I haven't quite gotten over that yet!)

I went to my bucket of cleaning supplies, reached down, grabbed the 'Febreeze' and started spraying. I moved quickly around the main floor of my home, a quick spray here and there, ending up in living room when I suddenly smelled, not the scent of fresh rain, but BLEACH! And in horror, I looked down to see a bottle of 'Fantastic with Bleach' in my hand. Oh my goodness, I thought, I've ruined everything because of my panic stricken and bruised house-keeper ego! I ran to grab a cloth and frantically rubbed down everywhere I could remember spraying. And, in the end, I was blessed with no white blotches on anything! Wow!

Two days ago I prepared a nice dinner for the family, having picked up some beautiful, fresh, tender asparagas for my husband, who loves it. I washed it, put it in a dish with a little water, then put it in the microwave to steam it. I found it this morning when I opened the microwave door to soften butter for toast!

So, maybe I have too much on my mind? Or, maybe I get distracted by our three kids, one dog, the telephone and the computer and knocks on the front door? Or, maybe, just maybe, I'm getting old?

I remember a story my father-in-law told us about my 70-something mother-in-law. She was searching the house for her glasses which she couldn't find anywhere. She said to him, "Where are my glasses… have you seen them anywhere?" And he replied, "They are on your head, Julie." We laughed and laughed at that story.

And now, I'm just beginning to understand…

Open sea

It’s been a day since the word ‘veer’ was posted at Pink Ink Workshop in the Outrageous Vocabulary forum… and I’ve been thinking hard on that word, chewing on it. I immediately loved it’s meaning, especially the turning toward the course of the sun. I thought what a lovely image that is, with obvious spiritual connotations, but I wasn’t suspecting anything beyond that.

This morning brought feelings of shame in my recognition of a deeper association with this word veer. As I walked and considered veering, and my desire to be on course, I saw myself as a small boat, one who was choosing to sail close to land rather than in the open sea. At first I thought nothing much wrong in this, and then the land forms, islands, began to take on labels of things that I was returning to and circling around and enjoying the waters of. And that’s where the shame crept in.

That’s when I knew my walk would be one of repentance and forgiveness, which interestingly is what repentance is about… a turning from, a veering away from and setting a course toward something else. In my case, the repentant veering was to be about the repetitive patterns of jealousy and envy in my heart that I steered my boat dangerously close to.

As I walked and thought through this ugly reality, I recognized other islands of shame… pride and conceit were also in my archipelago of dishonour. I named it all… out loud. At first I thought that asking for forgiveness was enough, and asking for change. But I realized that for me anyway, I needed to speak it out first… own my lies, own my dirt, and then ask for forgiveness and the supernatural power to veer my small boat of a life toward the course… of the Son.

The walk was good today. I met God there. I was real with him… no masks or excuses today. I saw the instances in my life both long ago and recently where I chose to sail in dangerous waters, close to reefs that could have capsized my boat. Sometimes there was an awareness of where I sailed, other times I just found myself there, with guilt and shame and trying to adjust my sails alone. Sometimes I even moored there for a while.

But today as I worked this all out with God, I realized that the course I want to set for myself is directly into the open sea. I believe the course of the Son is where I am to be. I believe he has so much more for me than were I to remain in the shallows of islands that offer some sort of sick attraction for a time. He has uncharted waters, exciting destinations, and navigational expertise that I can’t even imagine.

I know my boat has a tendency to get off course and that I will continue to veer to correct it. But, I desire to set my compass to true north - and follow that course.

Sheets unfurled, spyglass in hand,

Lesley-Anne

In a London Fog!

Tonight I went on a little date with my husband… just for an hour to escape from the house and get a little face time together. We ended up at Starbucks, and when I looked over the menu I decided on a new drink. A London Fog is new to me… I've heard someone order it before, but had no clue what it was. So, I decided that I was up for a little adventure tonight but needed to know a little more about what I was ordering.

I looked at the 16-something trendy 'barrista' and asked, "What's in a London Fog?" He looked me directly in the eye and said this, "Well, it's earl grey tea, with shots of vanilla, and half water, half steamed milk. And the tea is really cool… it comes in it's own little fabric bag that floats in your cup." I swear to you… that's what he said! He didn't smile, blink or give any indication that he knew that tea ALWAYS comes in little fabric bags that float in your cup. I looked him directly in the eye and said, "Then I'll take a tall London Fog."

Then I sat with my new drink, and marveled at how the fabric bag floated there, and shared a good belly laugh with my husband. And I wondered how many other young employees thought that this new tea thing was "really cool", having no idea that they are living in a bit of a Starbucks induced London Fog of their own!!!

Bottoms up!

Lesley-Anne

Palm Sunday Meditations

Meditations on Palm Sunday, 2008

Over 2000 years ago you rode into the city that would be the death of you. You rode on a donkey, and people flocked to see you and lay down palm leaves and their clothes on the road in front of you. They called out to you with shouts of excitement for who they, in their narrow minds, thought you were -- deliverer from the oppression of the Roman rule, catalyst for a new power, a new age, a warrior prophet - one whose words promised a better way.

“Hosannah in the highest,” they cried out in a euphoria that passed in waves throughout the crowd. Did they wonder why their future King rode on a donkey? Did they question your lack of weapons or armour? Did they wonder what action you would take in the capital, who you would see, what you would say? Or were they merely curious about this one whom they heard had raised the dead?

And your closest followers - what were they thinking? You had given them fair warning on several occasions yet did they really fully understand that your journey to Jerusalem would be a one way trip? As the crowds screamed, did the disciples glance at one another with a hint of pride to be counted as one of your friends? Or did they get caught up in the party atmosphere and miss the look of intent on your holy face?

What gripped Peter’s heart that day? A warriors heart, was he preparing for a fight? And Judas, where was his heart as he walked beside his comrades? Was Satan working on him even then? Did he feel discomfort, embarrassment at the spectacle his teacher was creating? Did he lag just slightly behind the rest, distancing himself from direct eye contact with you?

Who was in that cheering crowd? How many of those whom you had touched with your healing hands, had received your life-changing words where there watching, celebrating, feeling a renewed and overwhelming thankfulness mixed with disbelief at what you had done for them?

Did the man with the once withered hand lay his coat on the road in front of you? Did the bleeding woman, fully healed, weep for joy? Did the demon-possessed, now spirit filled one, sing songs of freedom that day?

And then you passed by, and they watched your figure grow smaller in the distance, the sounds of rejoicing fading with you. What happened to them then? As they returned to their homes, their vocations, their families, what occurred in the hearts of so many who, only a few days later, would be part of another crowd of people screaming, ‘Crucify him, crucify him.”?

And I see in that fickle crowd a snapshot of myself. My heart full of adoration one day then sidetracked the next, allowing circumstances to dictate my feelings and overrule my heart for you. My intentions for service, love, relationship, grand and strong, and then slowly becoming complacent. And I , like Judas perhaps, avert my eyes in embarrassment and shame for who I am, for my lack, for my defeat and I drift even further from you as I choose to look inward rather than into your eyes.

I see me in that crowd - euphoric in worship on Sunday then discouraged in my real-life by Tuesday. How many of us experience our faith like that? Striving, trying, desiring, hoping, but with no staying power?

Fall on God’s grace, you say! Let go and let God! Surrender! Yield! And my heart cries, “Yes”, while my head asks, “How often”? How often must I revisit this place of surrender, of repentance, of crying out to God to rescue me from my self? How often?

It’s getting late on this Palm Sunday and I realize the nature of time and the need to make the best of it. And my responsibility therefore lies in choosing how to spend my limited time… both today and for the rest of my life, choosing You over and over again.

So right now, I choose again to stay close to you, to do my best, to learn the sound of your voice and obey it, to love my husband and my children faithfully and well, and to learn what it means to love my enemies, and to serve you with the gifts you have given me.

And when I fall or grow tired, complacent and ashamed, I will choose to come to you again and again and again - to get a fresh look into your eyes - to fall on your mercy and grace - and to call out “Hosannah to my King”.

Simply Irrelevant

Do you ever get frustrated trying… not the frustration of trying to do a certain thing, but just frustrated with trying? I mean the energy it takes trying vs. just doing what comes naturally, what comes from an outpouring of who you are, rather than a striving to be more, be better, be more effective, be excellent.

Maybe I'm offending some here, but I find there is so much out there about being relevant, and effective and making a big influence, and not so much about the humility of being who you are, living in the moment and doing what needs to be done, well. It's a hyped up Christian world sometimes… on steroids at times… and while I understand the need to read authors that pump you up, attend conferences that take you to mountaintop places, I also recognize that we need to come down to the real world and live.

So, my point it this, if we are to live our lives like Jesus, would he be all over this excellence thing? Did he run around to various seminars, read the best sellers and spend time networking with the top people in order to get his message across? Nope. He simply lived, and walked and talked with people… yeah, the people that he met each day in the market, on the streets, and who he ate and drank with.

So maybe, just maybe, I should like that too. Rather than the rushing from one great opportunity to the next one, one visioning meeting to the next, I should simply put on a pot of coffee and visit with my neighbour? Or, chat to the cashier at the grocery store, look her in the eye and ask her how she's doing? Or wave when someone lets me in in traffic? Or thank the mailman for bringing my junkmail.

I don't know, maybe that's just me, but I think we/I make too much of myself sometimes. Yeah, I'm an annointed, chosen, forgiven, princess of the almighty God. But, I'm also a simple woman with a sphere of influence that starts at my own kitchen table.

Just thinking…

Peace.

Lesley-Anne

Freedom

Sleep eludes me.
My spirit engulfed by guilt, grief and loss
I rise before dawn and walk to the garden alone,
seeking solace
seeking peace.

The garden is cool
and the sweet smell of jasmine hangs in the air,
I want to escape from the realities of day,
that You are dead
and our love dead with you.
The false loves of my old life haunt me.
What will happen to me now?

The events of the past week play out in my mind.
From joyous celebration to sudden death and I,
weak willed bystander, fair weather friend,
watched from the sidelines.
I fall to my knees, prayer-less, powerless, broken.

I feel a presence before I hear a sound.
Someone is standing close to me.
A gardener arriving before the heat of day?
“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask.
A moment’s silence, then a single word is spoken
...my name.

I look up in confusion.
Is this someone’s cruel trick or is this a ghost?
Yesterday he was unrecognizable, yet he stands
before me now without a mark on him.
There is no denying His voice.

Astonished, I rise to my feet
and look into the eyes of my beloved.
He touches my face with warm fingers
He smiles with understanding.
My heart breathes
as I enter his holy embrace.

And then, with the lightness of fresh knowledge and freedom
I turn, laughing with delight
and run to tell the others.

“At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. He asked her, "Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?" Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him." Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means "Teacher"). - John 20:14-16

Prayer: Jesus, like Mary I am overwhelmed by your death on the cross. Sometimes I forget that you died to take away all of my sins, no exceptions. Help me to receive your Easter gift of total forgiveness. And help me to live in the grace-filled freedom that you promise me. Amen.

Altar

Over and over
I drag it up
and lay it down
only to pick it up again,
and here I am,
ashamed,
hooked in,
co-dependant.

Laying my Isaac down
sounds so noble,
honourable,
but with coals glowing hot
on the altar,
my greedy fingers reach out
to snatch back
the sacrifice.

I convince myself of
another way,
with another lamb,
'cause this one is virtually unblemished
and strangely precious.
Somehow larger than life.

And although I know a
higher
holier way
waits on the other side of the flames,
I choose to
trade redemption
for burn’t fingers
and slightly charred
remains.

Lesley-Anne Evans
Jan. 2009
copyright

Things I saw while not looking…

A lone robin -- Spring’s ambassador --
hopping tentatively over the tired snow.

Redwing blackbirds calling out raucous warbles
from hidden perches in the frozen marsh.

Three tundra swans banking wide white circles
in the valley below us, on our way home from school.

The sun painting my kitchen a watery yellow
through fingerprinted winter windows.

Lesley-Anne Evans
02/03/2009

Look at You

I saw you today as you walked towards me, I mean I really saw you. So handsome, so pleased with your new haircut, and so unaware of how you looked to me. You took my breath away. My son, no longer a baby, no longer even a little boy, but suddenly a young man.

My heart welled up within me as, in that instant, I realised the passing of time and the result of the years. And how intensely I loved you, and wished that I could freeze-frame that moment of time. You had no idea, of course, as you smiled and said, do you like my haircut mom? Like it, I said, I think it’s fantastic. You look wonderful. Thanks, you said, shy smiling, blue-eyed boy of mine.

And as I reflect on you and how the years have flown by, I have to wonder where will we go from here? Time will march on, and you will continue to grow away from me. You will find your independence, your passion, your purpose, and it will all be without me, just as it should be. But oh, how it hurts. How I wish it wasn’t the way of growing up. How I wish I could stay here with you always. Melancholy mother, I know, but the heart is not logical. It loves, it feels, it remembers and it cries.

So for a little while longer I will try to prepare you for your future, give you the tools that you will need, offer the advice that you may take, and point you in the direction that you may choose to go. I’ll make mistakes and forget some things, but my mother’s heart knows that God’s grace will cover all my inadequacies. And then it’s a matter of trust after that.

Then I will stand back and watch you go with God, my son.

Tarp People

I was out for a walk with my dog today. As usual, my mind moved from one thought to the next. Uninterrupted time is what I like most about my walks. Time to think and breathe deeply.

As I walked, I saw a common element in many yards and driveways that I passed by.

Things were wrapped up tightly in colourful tarps. Some tarps were green, others orange. Though slightly obscured by the tarps, the shape of each underlying item was visible. I saw a trailer, a boat, an R.V. and a 1967 GTO.. (nice car!) all wrapped up in plastic.

The tarps have a purpose. They protect and preserve surfaces from harmful UV rays and from rain damage. But the tarps can’t hide what is beneath them. The shape of the object always shows through.

I think we are often like that. We wrap ourselves in physical and emotional layers. Our tarps of choice have labels like The Gap or Lululemon. This layer expresses our personal style, and keeps us warm and dry. But, this layer is not who we really are.

We have also learned to wrap ourselves with emotional coverings. Pasted on smiles, “I’m doing fine, thanks.”, “Everything is under control”, or busyness layers, protect us from the “elements” of others. Sometimes these tarps are very thick and seemingly impenetrable.

The thing is, no matter what physical or emotional layers we choose to put on, the truth of who we are shines through in some form or another. Our tarps are often quite transparent. And, if the truth were known, most of us would much rather remove the tarps altogether and show who we really are.

Being real is something most of us long for. To trust one another enough to be who we really are, is our heart’s desire. And it is only through being real that we can experience true intimacy in relationships.

So, what’s the solution? How can we find safe places to be real? How can we trust others and ourselves enough to remove our tarps?

I think the ability to be real comes slowly and with age. It comes with being sure of who we are, and in putting our identity in who we were created to be. It comes with taking chances, learning lessons, and trusting again. It comes with healing. It comes with grace. But, it does indeed come.

So, if you catch a glimpse of the real, "untarped" version of someone you know, take the opportunity to affirm their courage, and shed some tarps of your own. The blessings will be mutual.

The fallen

The leaves fall under the trees in autumn. Oak leaves under oak trees, maple under maple, aspen under aspen. Branches reach over them, as if in one last attempt to capture the past.

With branches outstretched, the trees stand as silent sentinels. Wet with autumn rain, they stand alone in their solitary sadness and mourn the loss of their magnificence. Maple tree mourning maple leaf.

But oh, the brilliance of the leaves as they lie on the ground, glowing with intensity. Adorning the tired green of summer’s remaining grasses, they are as significant in this new setting as they were in the old. Leaf tips curl up to hold captured rain drops. They lie together in a riotous celebration of colour, each leaf worthy of belonging in a child’s collection of special things.

Until their colours slowly fade, and the leaves become a patchwork quilt for the roots.

If you look up into the trees now, you will see that their grieving has ended. On the once leaf-laden branches, a hint of life appears again. The buds lie dormant, waiting for the day that the upward flow of sap will swell them into significance, burst them into beauty.

Pregnant with hope, the trees await spring.