Something In Between

Lest I frighten away my readership with melancholy attempts at expression, allow me to present "something in between": A post designed not to make you laugh, nor make you want to slash away at your jugular with a dull paring knife.

Allow me to be comfortably mediocre.Words that make my heart take flight: Community Yard Sale.
The day couldn't have been more perfectly autumn, with a strong flavour of residual summer.
I wound my bike round and round town and came home with: 6 cookies (fundraiser to send a youth of YWAM), a piece of green fabric, three t-shirts and a pair of pants for the kids.

I also came home with a light spirit-- I wasn't out for the bargains, really. I was out for the interaction. I came home with a heart full of love for people in my community who know how to live with love in their actions. Sunday morning, I made it through an entire church service without bawling. I know its because for the first time ever, I remembered to pack some kleenex in my handbag. Next Sunday I'm likely to remember to wear mascara, and forget the tissue, then wipe my nose and drip black smudges on some poor soul to my left.

Sunday afternooon we had an outdoor picnic and enjoyed a stream of people coming and going, munching on my fresh salsa and soaking up the generous sun.

Soon, winter will be upon us. This pretty patch of rhubarb will be four feet under, and it will seem unbelievable that kids would voluntarily throw water balloons at one another in this very same spot.

Now, I hope you feel sufficiently neither emotionally hot nor cold.

And I hope I get through the day without throwing my snotty self against some unsuspecting victem who dares to show me some care or compassion.

LIFE Casserole

The following is (at least for me) a brand new recipe, but its not a family secret.

Mix together:
*essence of death
*the smell of fear
*2-3 dashes of anger

Add to one failing liver and allow to simmer on low heat for an undetermined amount of time.
Add chunks of:
*homework that drives a child to tears
*dialogue lost in translation
*large bills, when in season.

For seasonings, toss in grass clippings and recycling, tears of grandparents and children, sibling rivalry,transmissions and wheel bearings, prayers and hymns, and a generous portion of irritability.
For a more pungeunt flavour, blend with bottled pain and/or resentment and home-grown personal truths, numbering in the tens or hundreds.

Stew all ingredients.
Add more to taste.
Keep stirring the pot.







*******I am soooooooooooooooo not a good cook. No matter how many times I try to stir nicely, there's always slop slopping off the sides. Its a mess.

Reflections

I had reason to flip through some old photo albums this afternoon, and have the oppurtunity to pause and reflect back on the past 20 or so years of my life.

That's about how long I've been trying to be an adult now. Thus far, I must say, the pictures confirmed what I've suspected all along: its been a good life. Not every picture was necessarily a party, or a really rib-tickler, but most of them have precious and unique life seasons associated with them.

The early pictures of me and Brian freely reflect the silly, free-spirited love we have always enjoyed. Not to pretend that every moment of our time together in the last 16 years has been sheer bliss, but there's no denying it-- HANGING ONTO HIM WAS A GOOD DECISION!

By the end of my short time of reminiscance this afternoon, there were two distinct photo categories: ones that reflected good choices, or had some redeeming value, and secondly, those which made me smack myself in the head and wish I could redeem time, and go back to think with the correct end of my anatomy.

This is where I like being almost forty.

I'm not delusional enough to pretend I've never done foolish things, but I am smart enough to decide not to celebrate them, not to give them a permanent spot in my psyche, or even just on my bookshelf.I took those stupid pictures, which made me feel like a stupid girl, and I threw them in the stupid garbage. It gave me a great, cathartic burst of pleasure to hurl an entire album into the trash.

And now I'm holding onto the good.

Laura

Once upon a time, there was a large family. Five daughters were born, and because mommy was quite busy feeding, clothing, and giving birth, these five learned to depend upon each other quite a lot. By the time the littlest was born, the eldest was right fed up with mommy bringing home smelly, noisey, squishy surprises, so as soon as she turned 18 , it was time to seek greener, quieter pastures. Unbeknownst to either one, these two sisters were actually very much alike, and many years and many miles between them later, they would discover with joy that they shared so much more than their biological beginnings.
This is my sister Laura. She is very special to me, and if we didn't live 15 hours apart, I would be on my way to her house right now- to share a pot of coffee, drool over her latest, ingenious quilting project, laugh at the threads inground in her carpet, and last years Christmas cards still on her piano. After the coffee had grown cold, and half a bottle of really bad, overly sweet wine was gone, we would begin to philosophize. We would laugh at the irony of turning out very much alike, although having spent most of our lives away from one another. We would pore over magazines and books about fabrics and quilting designs. Laura would get excited about buying some high tech equipment to launch her craft to a whole new level, while I would imagine thrift shopping at bag sale day to get a bunch of old aprons and dresses to repurpose into a nifty neato something-or-other.

Most of all, we would laugh.

A month ago, when Laura flew out to spend some time with our brother, we had the privelege of spending an unusual amount of time together. One night, we decided to spend the night at the hospital, sharing the dark with Ken. First we needed to make a few stops. Laura managed to spend $45.00 on snacks and a bottle of really bad wine for us to share as we wiled away the nighttime hours. She spared no expense-- even purchasing two pretty plastic goblets so that we could enjoy our beverage with some class. We giggled and whispered and slurped and smacked until Ken's roommate politely informed us that he couldn't sleep to our accompanyment. We then politely reduced our rustling to a bare minumum.

Laura is one of the most fascinating, loveliest, gracious people in the world....and one of the goofiest. She knows how to buy in bulk. She knows how to laugh at herself. She knows how to be honest- with herself, and with others. She knows how to enjoy a good book. (even if it means staying up til four a.m. and being a yawning sack of uselessness the next day) . She knows how to enjoy a good speed boat ride. She has known hardship and heartache. She has given when there was nothing left to give. She has loved without being loved in return.

Laura- May the Lord bless and keep you. May the Lord lift his countenance to you, and give you peace.

I love you.

Arianna Faye Kehler Hildebrand

Tomorrow is the first day of the new school year. It's been quite a summer of changes, and we're not through yet. Tomorrow,my firstborn is going to junior high, and it'll be another season of new beginnings. She's baby-sitting age now, and a second mommy to her little brother. But to me, It seems a lifetime ago, and just yesterday that "monkey" was her constant companion, and I still got to choose her clothes every morning.

You were the start of it all for your dad and me-- you launched us from him and me, to....... "US". We became a family. You were/are my pride and joy. I couldn't believe that you were my little girl! I so hoped for my first to be a baby girl, that I decided it was impossible, and fell in love with a boy named Graeme instead. When you were finally born, I nearly asked the Doctor to check again! When Auntie Carol came to the hospital to meet you and saw you sleeping in the bassinet (I swear the first and last time that you slept, until you were four or five.....) She insisted that you were indeed a BOY!! We had to undress you, and then there was no getting around it! God gave me a girl? I just couldn't believe it, I was over the moon with joy!
Arianna.
You have become a lovely young woman, despite the fact that you have human beings for parents. I can't wait to see you join sports teams, enjoy your friends, and make excellent choices in your current reality as Junior High School student.

I love you , kid.
xo Mom

What Not to Do

Do not forget to refill a very important prescription on the Friday of a long weekend. Especially one which within seven hours of a missed dose demonstrates itself in nasty side-effects. Do not then work two consecutive night shifts with broken and insufficient jags of sleep. After the second such a night, do not come home, intend on going straight to bed but instead begin to CAN SALSA.

Do NOT drink coffee, eat muffins and cheddar cheese, fresh pickles from grandma, a chocolate chip cookie, and a few tastes of fresh salsa while canning and feeling your head float several feet above your shoulders. And all this before 10:00 am.

I repeat. If you want to be well, DO NOT do as I do.

Beauty from Ashes

Grieving the impending death of a brother has had dimensions that I was unprepared for. We've probably all read the "stages of grieving" and other insightful reads on what to expect when facing loss. Those are not the sorts of things that I am attempting to express here.

What has surprised and sometimes shamed me has been the rising up of some less evolved "inner child" in me. I first noticed it in photos that were being taken as people gathered in support of Ken. I observed that I tended to place myself in the rear of the group, even hanging back a step or two from the others, appearing peripheral and secondary-- as though I expected at any moment to be asked to "sit this one out".

I managed to laugh out loud at myself the day Ken's professional legal colleagues congregated outside of the hospital room. We'd never had reason to meet before, and though I was sincerely interested in meeting his friends, I once again felt myself hanging back and waiting for someone else to take the initiative. The exchange went sort of as follows: (well, its actually ridiculously paraphrased, to reflect the dysfunctional inner workings of my mind).

Lawyer guy: "Hi, I'm Ken's friend Mr so-and-so. This is my lawyer wife. She's as brilliant as she is physically beautiful and we just flew in from Ottawa, between extremely pressing and important meetings to spend some time with your brother."

My brother (not the sick one): "It's nice to meet you. I'm Ken's brother, and I just flew in yesterday from Central Africa. I'm smart, well-read, but also sensitive and kind. Most of the time I solve problems for the U.N., but I'm not just booky and beurocratic. I'm also a really great guy, and I have a close relationship with my sick brother. He needs me."

Joyce: "Hi. I'm a little girl in a woman's body. I've never known what I wanted to be if I grew up, so I'm mostly angst and I'd really feel better if you told me how much you like me, and how valid I am, even if I run a daycare in Niverville and don't even like flying".

(Okay, that was mostly just indulgent, please forgive me! But it was FUN and CATHARTIC to be irreverent and not so serious for a moment.)

Back to the point of being surprised about ugly lies and fears from the past who have also come around to visit at this time of meeting and gathering. I have done enough healing to know that I have a place on this earth, and that I don't need people to constantly remind me of my validity.

Still, I would be kidding myself to pretend that I don't appreciate validation and sincerity. I made a point of not actively seeking it out though, not wanting to feel selfish and narcissistic while the real issue is that of my brother falling terribly ill. This is not about me, I tell myself time and time again.

Which is why I wept all the harder when I met Ken's friends and found them to be among the loveliest, most authentic, and fun-loving bunch around. They were easy to like. They were the farthest from snobbish. They were unconcerned about titles and degrees and accomplishments. Meeting them has introduced me to a side of Ken that makes me sad I can't get to know him better, hang out with him and his friends, share more meals, more bottles of wine.

Which is why, upon receiving the following e-mail from a close friend of Ken's, I felt the tears of a small girl mix with those of an older, wiser, and stronger woman.

"Joyce, I am sorry that I have met you in this sad time, however I think I am going to take it as the good thing in all this "shit" because I find you quite an interesting, complicated, tormented, and beautiful woman. Your insight into your struggle and your comments that first day I met you when we talked about "body image" and our daughters, left me thinking for many days.

You are always welcome at my table. "

Unexpected pain. Unexpected pleasure.

Thoughts on Judgementalism

I have met a great many people whilst living on planet earth. Although there are many, many who I love, trust, and enjoy, there is not ONE with whom I agree whole heartedly. Being in relationship requires a certain amount of "majoring in the majors, and minoring in the minors", and at all times, making love your greatest aim. Does that mean that we should keep the peace at any cost and never risk confrontation? Not if we desire authenticity, and at times, not if we truly (with a heart full of love) want to warn a friend of heading into potentially dangerous territory.

Having said that, there are times when I have observed confrontation, and sensed the underlying attitude to be one of superiority, or fear. Fear that one's own belief system is being challenged. Fear that if we don't all think in the same way, that some of us will be horribly, dreadfully wrong- and that with dire consequences. There is a sense of urgency- that upon closer observation, appears to be clothed in impatience, irritation, and even anger.

Love, on the other hand, is patient and kind. Love withholds judgement. Love looks beyond the immediate, and searches for deeper meaning, different motivation. Love waits for an oppurtune time, a ripe moment when the Spirit whispers and one can speak into the life of the one you love, without the complication of a personal agenda. Love listens first, fully engaged, with both eyes and ears open. Love is just as interested in what the transgressor thinks and believes as they are passionate about their own belief.

A heart full of love breaks and aches at the thought of hurting another. Pain is not the intent, or the desire. There is no satisfaction in being right. There is humility in place of superiority.

When a person changes, or turns away from something destructive, I rarely hear of them commending the condemner, or crediting them with being the impetus for change. Again, I am not suggesting that we confront people, or urge them to pursue change so that we can later feel vindicated and appreciated. What I am suggesting is that true and lasting change instead grows from seeds of kindness, from a willingness to hear another as much as we desire to be heard, from a desire that was birthed out of a love that casts out fear.

Meeeeeeeee--OW !!!!!!!

Buttocks lift? Hopeless. Silicone implants? WAAAAAy too much loose skin to fill. Liposuction? Forgot to clean out our central vac system. How about we just punch a few holes?


I have had four epidurals, this should be a snap. After, I'll still be able to sleep through the night.

My new body piercing artist. (Like I've ever had one before!) Stacy Klassen; PussyCat Piercing (And no, I'm not kidding!)

(It was easier to hide the truth from you readers than it will be to hide the truth from my mother...)

Hmmmm Jane, how about for your eleventh birthday we get you this cute tattoo of a froggy? Or how about this one of a dead guy?

Like Tits On a Bull

I may as well move to Uganda with my big brother; that's about how useful I feel with this whole brother-dying-of-cancer ordeal that is constantly in my face.

It would FEEL so much better if I could reassure myself with thoughts of how helpful I'd been to Ken, or how many meaningful times and conversations we'd had as brother and sister, or how I'd taken care of his kids and bills so that he'd have more time to spend with his wife.

But, this is so very humbling. It just hurts, and there is no immediate balm to soothe the rawness.

There is no lack of love, no lack of true hope, of tears, and of good intentions.
But in my humanness, it just feels about as useful as tits on a bull.

What Did Me In

It wasn't :

*the 20 yards of sand tracked in from the sandbox
*the state of the kitchen and bathroom sinks (and floors,walls and towels) after millions of killer water balloons were manufactured
*the nerve of those who dared to utter those two EVIL words (I"M BORED)
*the diaper explosion that warranted a heavy duty gas mask
*the requests for clean, dry towels after exactly two minutes of pool use
*the amount of bird seed that was eaten by toddlers before our feeder craft was completed
*the tattling, the pettiness, or the volume

.....of the children that was my undoing.

It was mean-spiritedness that did me in this morning. Kids excluding others. Kids teasing in that awful sing song way. Kids racing to be first- which can only mean that someone else will come last, or not at all.

I know what it feels like to have that ugly meanness inside but it seems particularily cruel and painful that children come to this entirely on their own.

Choose

grey haired preacher pair in matching lilac

people saying Jeeeee-susssssss, yesssssss Lord;
not bothering with embarrassment

bad sweaters on lumpy bodies

soft babies who crap their drawers in worship service

weird people

the foolish things of the world to shame the wise

the lowly and despised things nullify the things that are

Judging others and sitting in places of superiority will find the one judging to become poor-- the loss of oppurtunity to learn from and be enriched by such rich diversity.

Pride only breeds quarrels, but wisdom is found in those who take advice.*

(*Proverbs 13:10)

HOPE

Head aching.
Eyes burning.
Spreading cancer
careless words
splintering relationships
Hope deferred.

Surprising love.
Unexpected sources.
the broken
-offering tools for healing.

Real. Raw.
Baffling. Beautiful.

Why I'm Ready for September

If I were as lovely as I sometimes pretend to be, I would be feeling sad about the change of season in the air, and the inevitability of school mornings to come. I would be dreading sending my beloved flock out the door when they'd rather be at home- blessing me with their presense, filling the air with song and laughter. I would be bemoaning the fact that my handsome life partner will get out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and speed off down the road to impart wisdom to his eager classroom full of school children.

I would smile benevolently each morning as my wiser-beyond-their-years offspring roll out of bed with touselled hair, schlump past the daycare kids (who came tidily dressed and already fed, probably something nutritious) on their way to the kitchen. There, (somewhere between 8:00 and 10:00 am) they will ever so independently prepare their own breakfasts- (from the three food groups, namely: chocolate milk, bread and nutella). Being creative and artistic by nature, they will unashamedly leave interesting trails of crumbs and splashes in their wake. Sammy's current form of artistic expression involves driving various small toys through the leftover milk on the bottom of his cereal bowl, then testing to see how the milk tracks vary when the toys drive across the table top. The various cups, drinking straws, bowls and spoons that the older children tend to leave on horizontal spaces (not limited to the table) are then very effective for creating that bold splash of colour that we hear so much about on popular home decorating channels.

I would be so appreciative of the helpful tidbits that my husband gives me when he pops into the house from working hard all by himself in the garage all day. I would nod and smile at the notion that the silly baby is headed towards the toilet again because I just haven't been paying attention (must have had my nose in a book again.....) I would leap at the chance to help move some heavy furniture out of the garage- what a blessing to spend just a few moments with an adult! I wasn't doing much of anything anyhow- just chucking a roast into the slow cooker for dinner that no one will be surprised will be ready at suppertime, just sweeping up 50,000 fridge magnets that mysteriously fell onto the floor, just fetching the laundry off the line before it starts to rain, just preparing grilled cheese sandwhiches for a crowd, setting the table for lunch, pouring drinks, serving lunch, then throwing half of it into the trash can...

Gosh, when they are all off at school, who will ask the question, "MOM! What are we doing today? We're BORED!", while tripping over $50,000 worth of toys, and glancing unimpressed at the trampoline, sandbox, and pool in the backyard. What will I do with my time without 12 pool towels to wash, dry, and fold before the next half hour when they all decide to go swimming again? How will I keep my conflict management skills sharp without Hildebrand sibling rivalry to manage?

If I were as nice as I wish I were, I'd be wiping a tear or two off my face on September the sixth. I'd be walking my little angels back to school and smothering them with hugs and kisses right at the school entrance. I'd reinterview all the teaching staff to ensure their qualifications for shepherding my tender sheep. Home again, coffee in hand, the house would feel hollow and echoey, and I'd have to take some time to redefine my role in the universe.

But I'm really just not that nice.

If you Build it, He Will Come

This afternoon, a couple of little kids are going to enjoy their dad's company in the comfort of their own home. That may not sound miraculous, but that's not the way I see it.

Thank you God, for all your goodness. You have given my brother the gift of more time. I cried out to you at times- reminding you of your sorrow when Lazarus' body ceased to function. You too have felt the pain of living on while someone you love dies. You heard us, and for that we are grateful.

And only You know where we will find gratitude and joy in the days to come, but in that , we trust You.

*Brian and two guys built that ramp- isn't he cute AND amazing?!

I Need a Thesaurus

First clue:
Joyce: "Hey, look! there's a tractor!"
two year old: "Uh, Joyce.... that's a backhoe."

Second clue:
Joyce: "Are you okay?"
three year old: "AArrrgh!! My brother keeps 'tangonizing me, even though I tell him not to!"

First Impressions

It's back to work around here, and we started out with a bang- well, with a sparkly candle actually. There is a sweet, chubby baby to add to the throng this year and on his very first day, we got to celebrate his birthday!

Jane and her friend rode their bikes to the grocery store to buy a cake mix and some blue icing, then whipped up this fine "marble" cake. (Okay, it was as HARD as a marble, and they mixed all the chocolate and vanilla up, then slopped most of it on the sides of the pan, but I was right proud of their independence and thoughtfulness...). We added some sparkly birthday sticks, decorated paper crowns with marker and foamy dinosaur stickers, then Jane and friend served up slabs of marble with ice cream for afternoon snack.
I think the little king was pleased.

Yup, That's Weird

Brian: "So he's going to have a blood transfusion, then you'll pick him up from the hospital and bring him home for his day pass? Doesn't that sound weird?"

Joyce: "Yeah, the whole thing is weird."

Micah: "What's a blood transfusion?"

Brian: "That's when they hook him up to a machine that sucks the blood out of him, cleans the blood, then returns it to his body."

Micah: "Oh! Kinda like a Brita!"

Near-Immersion Therapy

Spending lots of time with my family of origin has gelled my theories of rampant hereditary mental health issues. Few are affected sufficiently enough to be hospitalized, and no one has had the good fortune to experience electric shock therapy, although I must confess, I've done my best to achieve that goal, hoping that it would jar both sides of my brain into communicating with one another. Shy of that dramatic a treatment option, some family members have opted for a more conventional idea: therapy.

This is an approach that I heartily endorse, especially if you have bags of disposable income cluttering up your family room. However, if you find yourself and your wallet squeezed between your clamouring, hungry children and a cluttered house that insists on being paid for, then allow me to present to you a treatment option recently discovered by my big sister and I.

August long weekend is traditionally "Kehler" weekend at my brother's cabin in Lake of the Woods, Ontario. My brother is a mature professional who spends 11 months of the year solving real global problems, at times drawing on his original training as an accountant.

Then he goes to the lake.

Which brings me back to the idea of treatment options. While more sensible, better councelled, more medicated family members lounged responsibly and age-appropriately on the dock, my middle-aged sister and I boarded a speed boat with our brother at the helm. I say who needs shock therapy when you can let a repressed accountant let loose on his 5 weeks of holidays and blow about fifty bucks in fuel and three quarters of the ozone layer zooming around in circles on the lake then speeding recklessly over the ridges created by the wake.

Yes, indeedy. My sister screamed every offensive and anxiety provoking thought and feeling out of her bouncing body until we heard them ricochet off the surrounding woods. She laughed laughs never heard before this side of eternity. Every syndrome, disorder, and maligned thought pattern swiftly and succinctly healed by the catharsis evoked in that speed boat.

Near-immersion therapy.

Summer

It's been an unusual kind of summer. Having four children has kept me firmly planted in the land of the living- me: half-baked; and them: full-throttle. We've managed to enjoy a number of lakes between quick visits to the hospital. The "Florence Nightengale" dream of being super supportive sister has been nearly drowned out amongst the screaming needs of my own family. My mother keeps telling me to put my children first, and how they need me right now to be with them, and not to burden myself with unnecessary guilt for what I'm NOT doing these days.

I swear I'm trying to believe that.

It has been with mixed emotions that many glorious summer days have been spent with dear people during these unforgivingly hot summer days. Elaine and I go back since we were squalling babies in the church nursery, and "neighbors"- only two and a quarter country miles between our farms. There are few things as soothing as an authentic old friend's company when the familiar earth beneath our feet seems to shift unexpectedly.

It doesn't feel good. Still, I pray for healing. For him, for me, for us.