Growing Pains

Nothing could have prepared me for how much my heart would grow in these first few months of being Zoe's Momma. I remember reading the articles and the books prior, arrogantly scoffing at the moms who admitted to wearing puked-on t-shirts and yoga pants all day, the moms who had Cheerios in their hair and who hadn't showered in two days. "I will NEVER be that mom!" I assured myself.

Because Zoe is such a good baby, I thankfully have managed so far (knock on wood!) to maintain a somewhat pristine semblance of personal hygiene. Amazingly, she is a baby who sleeps through the night, so if I feel overly tired, it's usually my fault for staying up too late with my Hubster watching The Food Network. Cheerios haven't entered Zoe's menu plan yet, but it is true that there are days when I go through more wardrobe changes than she does. Not only do I get puked on, but apparently what comes out the other end can be projectile as well. And yoga pants - they're like sexy sweat pants, right? Comfort and style combined!

While pregnant, I remember fearfully pondering whether or not I was cut out to be a mom. See, there is a difference between WANTING to be a mom, and KNOWING you can be a mom. Diapers revolted me. Kids can't have intelligent conversations. And personal sacrifice was akin to hacking off my arm. I got my first reassurance that maybe I could do this thing called motherhood at my first ultrasound. The grey and white blob floating on the screen waved one of its stubby little arms at me and a lump formed in my throat and my eyes actually misted.

Before I knew it, that little grey and white blob made an entrance in our world and turned it upside down. One of the first days home, I called both my mom and my mother-in-law. They both asked me how things were going and it was all I could do to choke out "Fine!" before dissolving into hacking sobs. How did they do it? What does it mean when a baby's cry sounds like a screaming fire truck? How about when it sounds like a hysterical hyena? Or a piercing yelp that was at such a decibel that surely only dogs could hear it? "I don't know what I'm doing!" I wailed.

Thankfully, I have a wonderful mother-in-law, who said, "You're doing great, Jenny Girl! Zoe has no one to compare you to. You're the only Momma she has ever had, so when you don't know what you're doing and you feel uncertain, she still loves you!" While at the time, my mother-in-law's advice seemed daunting (I was the only Momma Zoe was going to have! She relies on me for everything! YIKES!), now I look back on it and cherish the fact that "YES! I am Zoe's Momma and she needs me! I am the world to her and she loves me!" 

The first few weeks, at the time, felt like years during which I never slept while battling an aching body and roller coaster hormones, seemed to have slipped through my fingers. Now I want time to stand still. I want to always be able to nuzzle the back of Zoe's neck, just to get a whiff of sweet baby smell. I want to always be able to kiss the soft little bald spot on the back of her head where all her hair rubbed off. I want to always be able to sing "You Are My Sunshine" to wake her up, knowing I will be rewarded with happy squeals and the cutest giggle. I want her smile to always be toothless and gummy just because it's so darn cute!

But that's not how it goes. Change doesn't wait for me to catch up. It just happens. And now, things that Zoe wasn't able to do last month, last week, even yesterday, are the things that I'm loving about her today. I don't know if she will ever fully understand how much I love her - not until she is a momma of her own. I know that is how it was for me - motherhood helped me realize how selfless and loving my own mom was as I grew up. Until then, I know that I'm going to mess up. I'm going to let myself, and maybe even Zoe, down. But I'm going to try my best. There will be growing pains, but isn't there always when love is stretched to new heights and deepened to new depths?

Eleanora

As I was cleaning up Christmas this afternoon, I stumbled across an old journal that was tucked away in a forgotten box. I have always been a keeper of journals. I have my Mum to thank for that - from an early age, she instilled in me the important power of words. Mum constantly reminded me that there are lessons to be learned from reading about your past struggles and former dreams - that someday, when looking back at my memoirs, I would grimace, or cheer, or cry, or laugh with my younger self.

Today, as I turned pages of girlish ramblings in my forgotten journal, I stumbled across one entry that struck me as humbling, an idea that I needed to be reminded of in this new year. It's not often that when looking through old journals, I find something that I want to share. Mostly, I cringe at my near-sightedness, or I blush at my simplicity. However, today I want to share an excerpt that still rings true some five years later....

September 22, 2007

"I can't recall whether her name was Eleanora or not, but I know that she was definitely the last person whose hair I wanted to cut and style. She was big and slovenly looking. A long scar stretched across her mouth that made it difficult to speak and swallow. Her hair was thin and greasy. After having scrubbed and shampooed her hair, her scalp still smelled horrible and it was the most disgusting yellow colour. She made me want to gag. I had completely run out of genuine pleasantries for Eleanora before even half of her hair cut was done. And then I heard how she had been diagnosed with cancer in June, which prohibited her from having a proper shower or bathing of any sorts. This was the first time that she was able to come back to the salon to have her hair done in months. She was so excited to cling to the one hope of fleeting femininity. The cancer had deformed and bloated her beyond attractive recognition. And yet, Eleanora was like a young girl, excited about curls and bows and princess-like fantasies. As she sat under the dryer, I went into the bathroom to scrub my hands of the filthy, greasy feeling her hair left. The last thing I really wanted to do was run my fingers through Eleanora's hair. Then it hit me. For so long, I had been praying that the Lord would give me a servant's heart. And God loved Eleanora. She was a beautiful princess in His eyes. He loved the sick. He healed the lepers. He was a servant. Guilt washed over me as I thought of how insensitive I had been to a truly broken woman. As I combed out Eleanora's curls, I took on the servant's heart. I overlooked her peeling scalp, her disfigured face, the smell that permeated her whole being. In the end, she turned towards me and barely whispered, "You're such a dear. Isn't it so encouraging when we meet followers of the Lord?" I didn't know what to say. I smiled and looked at the woman who had transformed into an angel sent from God to remind me that His love extends to every Eleanora this world knows."

New Beginnings to Old Things

A new year means new resolutions. I've never been a keeper of resolutions. I don't like to be limited to obligations that remain unfulfilled by the time next January rolls around. BUT, this year, I've decided to take a shot at being resolute. (Perhaps my first resolve should be to faithfully attend to my blog? Anyone notice how it has been over a year since I've posted on here?) Perhaps its foolish to make my intentions for 2013 public.  However, knowing that I am at least accountable to a smattering of blog followers means that the chances of my resolutions being accomplished are slightly higher than if I kept the list muddled up in the back corners of my mind. So, here it goes...

1. Two thousand and thirteen will be the year that I write more. Whether I write one sentence in my tattered Moleskin journal, whether I tap out a blog post, or whether I hunker down with my silly imagination and scratch out a story, this is the year that I will write. Today, alone, I have been encouraged on three separate occasions by three separate people to write. Being reminded of something that once was a passion and that has now fallen by the wayside is sad. And so, I am going to tap into that wordy creativity that used to possess an awkward teenage girl, and I am going to write. 
2. I came across my box of oil paints, tucked away in a dusty suitcase that was shoved carelessly behind bins of Christmas decorations. Three months from now, my Husby and I will be proud owners of our  first home.

   

   Me, standing in front of the "shell" of our townhouse

    With our first home comes walls and walls of blank space, waiting for pictures to be hung. I used to paint and draw and sketch. Painting, along with writing, is something that has long flown out the window. However, I'm determined that this is the year that I will paint at least ONE piece of artwork to hang on our newly acquired wall space. 
3. Eating locally has always been important to us, however, over the past couple of months, our busy schedules have loaned themselves more to frozen pizza and 5-ingredients-or-less-in-30-minutes-or-less kind of meals. In 2013, I want to be more aware of what we are eating. Though I seem to have a love/hate relationship with my itty-bitty-dysfunctional-postage-stamp-size-kitchen, I am going to purpose to spend more time in there, experimenting with ingredients from our local farmer's market.

   

   My itty-bitty-dysfunctional-postage-stamp-size-kitchen. Not exactly enough space for culinary magic.

   Maybe (if I remember to write!!!) I will share a few recipes that I have stumbled upon. 
4. Our church has recently been doing a sermon series on what it means to be a disciple within our church body and surrounding community. My prayer is that this is the year that I will stop and spend more time listening to the needs of those around me - that I will look for ways to reach out to others, to be a friend to those who need a friend, and to be a disciple of Christ in the less glamorous situations around me daily. 
5. I want to become more aware of how I spend, or rather, waste my time. Lately, it has become very apparent that there are many things that I allow myself to "indulge" in for hours on end...Facebook, Pinterest, the Ikea website, Pinterest, Pinterest, Pinterest....Before I know it, I raise my bleary eyes from my computer screen to the clock on the wall and realize that a good couple of hours has just slipped through my fingers. Perhaps I need to take one day a week where I remain "unplugged." Or maybe I need to limit myself to an allotment of time each day - nothing more, nothing less.

Some of these resolutions may be easier than others. Some may take a bit more courage and confidence, while others will cause me to gain a more inward, quiet grasp of what is important. When written out, these ideas seem like a tall order.Then again, it is 2013, and I have only ONE 2013 to live. Here's to making the best of it! 

Food Inc.

Like 50% of the population, we have jumped on the "eating healthier" bandwagon for the new year. For us, however, it is not about trying to loose weight, appear thinner, or to become more buff. (That being said - we wouldn't turn those results down! :) ) Rather, we were inspired to change the way we eat after watching the controversial documentary "Food Inc."

Want to have your eyes opened? I suggest you watch this documentary. You will never look at food (specifically meat) the same. Whether you change the way you eat after this movie, is up to you. But, I promise that when you pick up a package of chicken breasts on sale for $10.99 you will think again. (And I was as big a culprit as any when it came to a good "deal" in the meat section at the grocery store.) "Food Inc" sheds light on the United States food supply - how it is controlled by a few corporations who keep personal profit at the forefront of their mind, while dropping all concern for the consumer's health. The consumer is not the only individual who suffers from these heavy handed corporations. Food Inc. exposes the truth behind these corporations and the environment, the way they treat animals, the lack of protected worker's rights, and the dismemberment of the "small town" farmer. (Granted, Canadian standards are different from the USA, however, they really are NOT that much different. For instance, just take a minute, when you're next in your grocery store, and see exactly how much of the produce is from Canada. It will startle you.)

Consequently, J and I have decided to be more careful with what we put in our mouths. Since we are both carnivorous individuals, this will not mean we will give up eating meat entirely. However, we plan on making sure we know where our meat is coming from. We want to know that the animals are treated properly, that they are not pumped full of growth hormones, that they are grass fed (opposed to corn fed, which causes E-coli bacteria in many animals), and that the workers are treated fairly.

So, how does this affect our diet? Let me introduce you to "Meat Mondays." On Mondays we eat meat (organic). Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we don't. Why do we not eat meat on the other days of the week? Personally, for J and I, it is to keep us mindful of what we are putting in our mouths. Also, our grocery bill is significantly skinnier now that we've left the pork chops, chicken breasts, and ground beef in the cooler. We've pledged to follow this routine for one month only, to simply see how we can tough it out. However, once February rolls around, we may find that our bellies are happier, our consciences are clearer, and our bank account a little richer. Maybe we'll keep at it. (Or, and let's be realistic here, maybe we'll just be craving that steak, or grilled chicken breast, or whatever it may be.) Whether we decide to revert back to our carnivorous ways or to continue on with our more "leafy" substitute, our choices on where our food comes from are going to be drastically different.

We'll keep you posted on how this journey goes! Wish us luck!

P.S. Lunch today was Black Bean-Smothered Sweet Potatoes and Stuffed Portobello with Balsamic Reduction....and trust me, it was anything but boring! Stay tuned for the recipes and pictures coming up!

It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas...

Christmas has hit the Feddema household with a vengence. About three weeks ago. I do realize that it is only the first week of December, but Christmas is my favourite time of year. My railing is wrapped in snowy, glittery greenery, red stockings already fat with stuffers plunging from the garland. Bing Crosby is crooning "White Christmas" in the background. My tree glints and glows from the corner. The aromas of nutmeg and cinnamon waft from the kitchen as I take an eggnog loaf from the oven. My Christmas shopping is done...waiting to be wrapped (the only thing I hate about Christmas).

It's just that time of year when everything seems magical, possible, forgivable, lovable. We get wrapped up in the smells, the sights, the traditions, the memories, the songs, the gifts, the future. As a Christian, it's hard to remember to "keep the reason for the season." We, too, get distracted with the glitter, the lights, the show of it all. But let's take a moment, this Christmas season, to think of Christmas from our Father's perspective...

The birth of Jesus in a barn stall was anything but magical - and yet, it was. It was the birth that breathed ultimate forgiveness, unconditional love and unfathomable possibilities for the Christian world. Close your eyes to imagine it all. While we smell gingerbread and holly, 2000 years ago, the only smell would have been of hay and manure. We marvel at the way people decorate their homes with lights and garlands and trees; God marveled from above at the sight of His Son brought forth - completely human, completely perfect, with ten little fingers and ten little toes. We reminisce of traditions and memories of Christmases past, while 2000 years ago, our Father savoured the moment of love between mother and Son. Gustily, we sing "Joy to the World," "Frosty the Snowman," and "Deck the Halls" with well-spirited fervor. God sent the choirs of the heavens, 2000 years ago, to serenade the hillsides of sleepy Bethlehem. With expectation, stress, and excitement, we pick out the perfect gifts, meanwhile, God knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that His Son was THE perfect Gift. On Christmas day, the future seems so bright ahead of us. To the Father, 2000 years ago, He saw the future - He saw the nail-printed hands and the blood-stained brow and the redeeming love.

Time dulls the intimacy of the real Christmas. Yet, if you stop to listen for just a moment amidst the hustle and bustle, I'm sure, instead of the tap of reindeers hooves upon your rooftop, you will hear the song of a Father's love resonating through the ages.

Make a Joyful Noise

Today I took a hesitant, nervous walk down memory lane. Just last week, I enrolled myself in The Beckett School of Music in Kitchener, hoping to reacquaint myself with my trumpet, which has silently accumulated a layer of dust in my closet.

It has been over four years since I have seriously played. Previously, I had studied music in University, spending hours cooped up in a practice room, playing until it felt like my lips would fall off. For all the physical pain and monotony of scales, there was nothing quite like the feeling of getting on stage and playing before thousands of people. Fellow band members were closer than family and the exhilaration of hearing a piece come to life was indescribable.

Playing a university level was likely the most challenging hurdle that I've tried to overcome. Within my first lesson, it was discovered that my embouchure ( the use of facial muscles and the shaping of the lips to the mouthpiece of woodwind instruments or the mouthpiece of the brass instruments) was completely wrong. My range of notes I could reach was deemed insufficient. I played too tensely. I attacked the notes. Before long, my fortitude crumbled and I began to doubt myself as a musician. It was because of these reasons, that I gently put my trumpet back in its case, closed the lid, and shoved it to not only the back of my closet, but to the back of my mind. For four years my trumpet sat there, only to be dragged out dutifully for Christmas and Easter celebrations at church.

However, the part of me that was passionate about the art of music never died. Those feelings lay dormant inside of me. I believe if it wasn't for J, who told me time and again, to not let that talent die, I would never have unearthed my instrument. And today, I did it. I could barely eat all day. All I could think of was my lesson, looming ahead of me.

I sat on a hard pew bench within the school, my palms sweaty, waiting for my teacher (who turned out to be late). I could smell the metallic of brass, the dusty sheet music, the valve oil spilled on old carpets, and it was euphoric. The lesson was 45 minutes long - probably the fastest 45 minutes of my life. I had been prepared for the worst. I was ready to hear things re-iterated about my lack of skill. My teacher, on the other hand, had high words of praise, deeming me "quite an accomplished player" by the end of the lesson. Of course there are kinks and quirks to work out of the system. My teacher acknowledged that yes, my embouchure was different than perfect form, however, not unable to be worked with. My range was somewhat limited, but the clarity of my notes was excellent. It was true that I somewhat attacked the notes, but my style was lyrical and full of emotion.

I left the lesson today, walking on a cloud. Taking back what I have lost will be a lot of work. My trumpet, though, now sits in the middle of my bedroom floor, where I will have to step over it every time as a constant reminder.

(Want to check out some amazing female trumpet players: Alison Balsom: www.alisonbalsom.com; Tine Thing Helseth: www.teinthinghelseth.com; Cindy Bradley: www.cindybradley.com)

Stylist Sisters

Most people would say that they have a close relationship with their hairstylist. Some would view their stylist as a friend, a confidant, even a therapist. They are the one person who you can count on to not only massage your scalp, style your hair, and update your looks, but also to give you completely undivided attention and a listening ear.

I'm lucky enough to have approximately six stylists like that. Having worked as a hairstylist myself, it's only natural that a fair number of my friends are also my former co-workers. These girls have been there for me during the normal and the mundane, but also for the shining moments:

Last night, I had the opportunity to sit in the stylist chair and let Cristina work her magic on my hair. It's always a strange feeling for me to be the "client" and not the "stylist" at the salon where I previously worked. (Check it out here: www.grottohairstudio.ca and www.youtube.com/user/grottostratford ) At the same time, however, it's like no time has passed. We talk "shop." We gossip. We laugh together. We pray. Sometimes we cry.

These girls, who are more sisters to me than anything else, are timeless friends.

Noah's Wife

For our Young Adults Worship Night coming up, we are focusing on some of the miracles within our everyday Bible stories. So often, we, as Christians, take for granted the amazing complexity of the miracles that God has preformed in our forefathers. My task is to reveal the supernatural phenomenon of Noah's flood through a perspective not often thought of - Noah's wife:


THE STORY OF NOAH’S ARK FROM HIS WIFE’S PERSPECTIVE

"For one hundred and twenty years we were scorned. Imagine! One hundred and twenty years! Aaah...it was the best of times, it was the worst of time. (pauses)

My poor husband couldn’t even walk to the market without mockery being hurled at him across the market square. “Hey, Noah! When’s this rainstorm supposed to be coming?” “What do you have there, Noah? More building supplies for your ark?” Still, my husband managed to hold his head high and bravely spoke of the Lord’s coming destruction.

My three sons? (sighs) Oh my poor children! There was a time at the beginning when all the neighbour kids would flock around them, interested in the “building project” that my boys’ father was constructing. It didn’t take long, though, until the children’s parents warned them to stay away from my sons and the monstrous shell of a boat that towered in our fields. Yet, as the years passed on, my sons clung to the promises of the rain and the revenge of our most holy God. I’m amazed, to this day, at the Lord’s goodness for keeping our sons faithful to Him.

As for me, well, there is nothing quite like the gossip of women! And oh, how it spreads! When Noah first started to build the ark, most of the women in my social circle just dismissed it as another “manly” building project. However, once the frame for the ark started to take shape, it threw a shadow over my friendships. I always knew when my family was being talked about, because as I would walk to the well each morning, the other women would stop to stare at me, whisper to each other, smirking as they quickly shuffled out of my way.

It was as if we had a disease! They were hard times, but times that definitely brought us closer together as a family, and closer to God. I smile now when I think of the way we boldly proclaimed the inevitable destruction that God was going to bring upon mankind. We had no shame.
No matter how hard and long we preached to our neighbours, nothing seemed to sink in. It was draining. There was nothing that we wanted more than for our former friends to believe that God’s punishment was coming!

It was an ordinary day when Noah and I awoke to the strangest of sounds. Imagine our disbelief when we looked out our window and saw animals of every kind, spreading out as far as the eye could see, all heading towards our boat. Imagine how it felt when the first rain drops started to fall! Up until that time, we never knew what rain was!

We were ecstatic! God was fulfilling His promise! And yet...I couldn’t help but feel sorrow wash over me as I thought of all our neighbours! Noah and I grew up with some of these people! For close to 600 years we had all toiled and worked the earth together...and now, their evilness had brought upon THIS. (sighs)

I can still hear the echoing thud of the ark’s door as it shut. The chaos of hungry animals and the pelting rain above us could not drown out the cries from outside the ark as the waters rose. What was even worse was the deafening silence after a mere hour of rainfall. I shudder to think of what it must have looked like beyond the sturdy walls of our ark.

It was over a year before we ever saw or walked upon dry ground again. My feet were wobbly as I stepped out of the ark, unsure of the muddy ground beneath my feet. We were exhausted. And yet, in that desolate landscape, all Noah could do was kiss the ground and sing praises to our God. We even erected an altar to thank our Lord for being faithful to us. Just when we were thinking that God could not provide us with any more miracles, we were dazzled by the most beautiful one of all!

The sky was awash with vivid reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues and violets that stretched from east to west. I remember looking at Noah and seeing the glow of this miracle reflected in his face. I recall kicking off my sandals, raising my arms as if to embrace the hues arched above me, and laughing. I twirled around, feeling the mud squish through my toes – thinking it was the most beautiful feeling I had ever felt. And there, on the top of that mountain where we rested, I fell to my knees and thanked God for His faithfulness and His breath-taking hope."

Twenty-Three Years!

Not too many people can say they've had the same best friend for the past 23 years. But, today I want to celebrate just that! She has been with me through thick and thin - through our toddler years, into grade school, the awkward high school years, the newness of university, and now, as we both celebrate married life together!

Here are some pictures of our many adventures together over the years:

Happy 24th birthday, my friend! Tonight - let's raise a glass to another 23 years of being BFFs!

Bread of Perfection

The golden loaves glowed on my counter top. The comforting aroma of freshly baked bread saturated my kitchen. I couldn't help but feel a little proud as I stood back from the sweltering oven, hands on my hips, and admired my most recent culinary triumph.

The bread was still hot when I sliced thick slabs off, smothered in butter and raspberry jam. Perfection on my plate.

Before I took my first bite, I heard His voice.

"I am the bread of life." He whispered.

Thoughtfully, I chewed upon sustenance, both physical and spiritual:

John 6:48-51 "I am the bread of life. Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven which a man may eat and not die. I am the living bread that comes down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh which I will give for the life of the world."

My forefathers and I are one and the same. So often, I am content to scrape an existence in the arid desert, comfortable with consuming heaps of manna. From my plate of hard, wafer-like morsels, I can barely lift my eyes to the heavens to taste the Living Bread, broken for me. Instead, I focus on finding, striving, inventing any little way that I can make the manna lying at my feet taste sweet. My efforts to satiate my gnawing hunger is in vain, and it isn't long before my hands grasp at those pieces of manna once again. I cling to those hardened crumbs, forgetful of their failure to sustain me. Oh, I am such a manna eater!

The slop of this world clings to my lips in the form of manna, yet the most beautiful invitation is extended to me, to those who echo the footsteps of the Israelite forefathers. If I stop for but a moment from my vain efforts to sweeten my life on my own, the smell of Perfect Risen Bread wafts down from Heaven and envelopes me.

The taste of manna lies heavy and dry within my being, and yet, I hunger for this Bread - this broken Bread that the very crumbs I am unworthy to eat. With each moment I spend breathing in the Holy Sustenance, I experience the Life living within me. Paltry and measly is the plate of manna that I had been "feasting" upon before. Any traces of my desert fare, I wipe away.

Before me, the table is set. With His nail-printed palms spread, the Inviter entreats me to His simple banquet. With those same mangled hands, He breaks the Living Bread: "Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good."

Faithfulness Shines Through My Window

It's the sacred time between inky blackness and muted morning. Quietness shrouds the house. The hustle and bustle of breakfast and getting J out the door for work has lulled. In the chilly morning air, I've waved from the door, watching J's car slowly pull out of the drive. I follow with my eyes until I can't see his car anymore, only the pools of red reflecting on the pavement as he brakes for the stoplight. And then he's gone. Quietly, I close the door.

The remnants of a busy morning are scattered. Dishes in the sink, J's towel slung lazily over the bathroom door, the bed unmade. I close my eyes to the clutter and head to the living room.

It's always the same corner of the couch each morning. I wrap my hands around a steaming mug of coffee, bundled beneath a cozy afghan. Here, I wait. I listen. For Him.

The view out my window shows fog pulling its whispery fingers away from rooftops. The murky gray and blue shadows blend into blushed yellows and pinks. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Each morning the sunrise is different. But each morning, it's a gift from Him that I see unfolded through panes of glass.

Spoken words flow as I pour out my full heart to my Lord, my Renewer of Every Morning. Morning by morning, new mercies I see!

From His Love Letter, I read - His voice reverberating through my fingertips, my mind as I caress each word. As the daylight grows stronger, I gently close His Letter, nurturing His truths in my heart. Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow!

I breathe in the stillness before the routine of my day sets in. Thank You, O God my Father! Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

Now - I am ready.

Stomach + Heart = Love

I'm a sucker for Valentine's Day. I totally buy into the notions and myths of chubby little cupid with his bow and arrows, tacky heart decorations, flowers, love letters etc...Since yesterday was our first Valentine's together as a married couple, we wanted to make it a little extra special.

For me, all the loving started last week when J came home with my new beloved can opener and chocolates! On Friday he came home carrying a bouquet of 12 long stem roses...absolutely breath-taking!

With painstaking creative genius, on Saturday afternoon J presented me with this:

I was thoroughly impressed! As an engineer, for J to get all "arts and craftsy" was a big leap out of his comfort zone! (Might I add that he even composed the little poem Even though the seasons change, my love for you remains the same.) I was definitely swept off my feet!

However, I was in a frenzy as to what I should do for J for Valentine's Day. Let's face it - Valentine's Day really isn't a day that was invented for men. Unlike myself, J has not bought into the whims and fancies of lavish bouquets and copious love letters. If I were to give him the same beautiful arrangement of roses that he gave me, I know for a fact that his reaction would not be nearly as satisfying as mine. Instead, the age old saying "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach" led me to the kitchen, where I was sure that a tasty culinary creation would melt J's very heart strings.

I started first off with making Raspberry Crumble Bars:

Raspberry Crumble Bars

3 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 cups sugar, divided
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup shortening
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 tablespoon cornstarch
4 cups fresh or frozen raspberries

- In a large bowl, combing the flour, 1 cup sugar, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Cut in shortening until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in eggs and extract. Press two-thirds of the mixture into a greased 9x13 baking dish.
- In a large bowl, combine cornstarch and remaining sugar; add berries and gently toss. Spoon over crust. Sprinkle with remaining crumb mixture.
- Bake at 375 for 35-45 minutes, or until bubbly and golden brown.

I give these bars two thumbs up! The raspberries keep it fresh and tangy, but the addition of almond extract gives it a rich, buttery flavour that melts in your mouth! Perfect with a cup of strong coffee!

I spent the better half of my day preparing for our meal. Thanks to Taste of Home website, I was able to find delicious Valentine's recipes for two.

We started our meal off with Cranberry Almond Salad with Raspberry Vinaigrette:

Cranberry Almond Salad with Raspberry Vinaigrette

enough mixed spring salad greens for 2 people
sliced mushrooms
dried cranberries
1 tablespoon chopped onion
slivered almonds
Raspberry Vinaigrette dressing:
1/4 cup of olive oil
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon raspberry preserves
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon pepper

This salad was nice and light. I was pleasantly surprised with how the dressing turned out. At frist, I thought that it may have had too much olive oil, but I chilled it for a few hours, and the raspberry flavour seemed to infuse quite nicely with the rest of the ingredients.

Followed by our salad, we had Steaks with Molasses-Glazed Onions, Twice Baked-Baked Potatoes, and mixed veggies.

Steaks with Molasses-Glazed Onions

2 bacon strips, diced
2 beef top sirloin steaks (6 ounces each)
1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
1/2 teaspoon pepper, divided
1 large sweet onion, thinly sliced
1 1/2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
1/2 teaspoon molasses

- In a large skillet, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp. Remove the bacon; drain the skillet, reserving 1 1/2 teaspoons drippings in the skillet and 1 1/2 teaspoons drippings in a small bowl.
- Sprinkle steaks with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. In the skillet, cook steaks over medium heat for 4-6 minutes on each side, or until meat reaches desired doneness. Remove and keep warm.
- Add onion and reserved drippings to the skillet; saute until tender. Add the vinegar, molasses and remaining salt and pepper; heat through. Serve onion mixture with steaks; sprinkle with bacon.

The topping on the steaks was absolutely divine! The onions tasted almost like caramel, with a hint of spicy tang. I will definitely be making this recipe again!

Twice Baked-Baked Potatoes

2 medium baking potatoes
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup 2% milk
1 bacon strip, cooked and crumbled
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
1 teaspoon minced chives
1/4 teaspoon salt
dash of pepper
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese, divided

- Bake potatoes at 37 for 1 hour or until tender. When cool enough to handle, cut a thin slice off the top of each potato and discard. Scoop out pulp, leaving a thin shell.
- In a small bowl, mash the pulp with butter. Stir in the milk, bacon, onion, chives, salt, pepper and 1/3 cup cheese. Spoon into potato shells. Top with remaining cheese.
- Place on baking sheet. Bake at 375 for 20-25 minutes or until cheese is melted.

These potatoes were to die for! Creamy, rich goodness within a crispy shell, baked to cheesy perfection! Yum!

Let's just say J was extremely excited for his meal:

We finished our meal off with Poached Pears with Raspberry Sauce:

Poached Pears with Raspberry Sauce

1 cup water
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup white wine, or white cranberry juice
2 medium pears, peeled and halved
3 tablespoons seedless raspberry spreadable fruit
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
fresh raspberries to garnish

- In a small saucepan, bring the water, sugar and wine to a boil. Reduce heat; carefully add pears. Cover and simmer for -10 minutes or until tender. Remove pears and reserve cooking liquid.
- In a small bowl, combine spreadable fruit and vanilla. Stir in enough cooking liquid to form a sauce consistency. Cover and refrigerate sauce and pears separately until chilled.
- Remove sauce from the refrigerator 15 minutes before serving. Place two pear halves on each dessert plate; top with sauce. Garnish with raspberries.

This dessert was the perfect end to our meal - sweet and light, with a satisfying hint of vanilla flavouring.

At the end of the night, I think the saying holds true - the stomach, when happily fed, will heartily love. At least for my man it does. Mission accomplished.

Can Opener Catastrophes...(aka Pasta with Hot Sausage Sauce)

Supper for J and I did not happen until approximately 8:30 last night. It was all the fault of the can opener.

I've been needing a new can opener for quite a while now, but somehow, it never reached the list of things to buy. Until yesterday, I had my old one for over 2 years and it had definitely seen better days. The teeth were all rusted, the wheels would hardly turn, the handle got stuck, I would have to hold it at weird angles to actually get it to grip the can, the list goes on and on...

Four o'clock rolled around yesterday afternoon, and like I usually do around that time, I started to make supper. I've found that if I start preparations for supper around 4, by the time J comes home from work, the table is set, and something steaming sumptuously comes from the oven.

The particular recipe I was making last night called for whole peeled tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, and tomato sauce...all from a can. And so began the wrestle with the lousy can opener. 20 minutes later, the first can was mangled, twisted, distorted - crushed tomatoes seeping out of the gashes that the can opener managed to shred through. Every time I managed to turn the handle on the can opener, the can received such a jolt that tomato juice spewed from any opening possible, splattering against my clean white cupboards. Finally, I gave up. I was frustrated. My wrists felt sprained. My kitchen was dirty. And there was no way that supper would be ready by the time J came home.

Instead, I called J and vented my frustrations about the "stupid" can opener, the dirty kitchen, and the food that was inevitably never going to reach the table, much less our bellies! He promised to bring home a new can opener. (Which he did - might I add that it is the "Cadillac" of all can openers! Bright red, Kitchenaide, the best one in the whole store!)

It wasn't until close to 7 that J came home, can opener in hand...as well as a box of early Valentines Day chocolates (might I add that he is the "Cadillac" of all husbands out there?!). After unsealing the remaining cans and a not so ceremonious disposal of the old can opener, supper was ready...a mere hour and a half later. Despite everything, the meal was absolutely delicious!

So, here's to great food...and even greater can openers!

Pasta with Hot Sausage Sauce


1 pound hot Italian sausage
2/3 cup red onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon minced capers
1 (28 ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes, mashed, liquid reserved
1 (14.5 ounce) can crushed tomatoes
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
1/2 cup red wine
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried parsley
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
salt to taste
1 (16 ounce) package dry ziti pasta (I used penne)
1/2 cup grated Romano cheese

• In a skillet over medium heat, cook the sausage until evenly brown.
• Mix the red onion, garlic, and capers into the skillet, and cook until onion is tender. Mix in the mashed whole tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and red wine. Season with basil, parsley, oregano, red pepper, black pepper, and salt. Bring to a boil, and reduce heat to low. Simmer 45 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened.
• Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Place the ziti (or whatever kind of pasta you choose!) in the pot, cook 10 minutes, until al dente and drain.
• Serve the sauce mixture over the cooked pasta. Top with Romano cheese.

Experimental Prayer

J and I had the opportunity last week to take our YACC (Young Adults College and Careers) group through an interactive prayer night.

I have found that prayer can be one of the most daunting topics to approach amongst a Christian group. It seems  that we get so caught up in the "rituals." Close your eyes, fold your hands, use lots of big words (like sanctification, redemption, justification etc...) to make you sound smart, etc...The most frightful thing about prayer can be the very notion of praying OUT LOUD. Or even worse, in front of people.

Consequently, J and I wanted to tackle this obstacle, allowing people to know the beauty of communicating with our Creator, without the list of "do's and don'ts" lingering above. So, we constructed an interactive prayer night where each individual spent time at 9 different stations. Ideally, it would be nice to do this all in one big room (similar to a prayer labyrinth) but instead, J and I sectioned off 9 of the Sunday school classrooms at the back of the church and people moved from room to room as they pleased.

STATION 1: MAP

At this station, we had the YACC-ers pray for our city.  We had set out a large map of Kitchener Waterloo and around the map were pictures of different organizations within the city that helped the needy. (The Food Bank, ROOF, Ray of Hope etc..) The individual then read through Matthew 5:3-10, allowing God to impress on their heart the needs within our own city.

STATION 2: LISTEN

Here, the person meditated on Psalm 46:10 (Be still and know that I am God). We had instrumental music in the background, with all the lights turned out and only a few candles burning. This station was supposed to infuse peace, relaxation, knowing that God is in control.

STATION 3: WORD

At this particular station, we had laid out three different scrabble boards. The individual was to reflect upon the verse Isaiah 9:6. They were to think of words that they would use to describe God based upon His presence in their life. Whatever word(s) came to mind, the individual was to put on the scrabble board. As a result, the words connected (Scrabble style) as a symbol of how each individual has experiences of God to share with others.

STATION 4: CONFESSION

Here, we encouraged people to confess their sins/struggles while living in a broken world. Two passages were given (1 John 1:8-9 and Psalm 32:3-6) to stimulate their hearts to confession. They then wrote down whatever they felt needed to be confessed, and then, shredded it in the paper shredder. This station was to be one of repentance, and yet, a place to feel God's mercy.

STATION 5: REFLECTION

This station was composed of three mirror set on chair in different corners of the room. The young adult was invited to sit in front of this mirror to examine their reflection. They were encouraged to praise God for the amazing creation of themselves, realizing that they are 'fearfully and wonderfully made.' As well, they took time to ponder Proverbs 27:19, asking God to show them whether or not their lives were reflections of Christ or not.

STATION 6: H2O

Here, the individual was to think about how every prayer offered to God mixes with the prayers of all of God's people around the world. (They meditated on Matthew 18:20 and Ephesians 6:18) They were to consider how amazing it is to know that prayers do not know the boundaries of tie or space and so all become one! The person was then encouraged to think of a person, place or situation that they wanted to life up in prayer. When they were ready, they were to pour water from one of the pitchers into one of the bowls, watching as the water from other people's prayers mixed with their's - uniting as one. 

STATION 7: BURDENS

At this station, the young adult focused on Matthew 11:28. Here, they were encouraged to write down their burdens that they wanted to give over to Christ. They then wrote the burdens on post-it notes and stuck them to the cross of Christ, as an act of freeing themselves from doubts, fears, obligations, worries etc...that were keeping them from proper communion with God.

STATION 8: TIME

This station was intended to sober the individual into realizing how fleeting their time here on earth truly is. They were to meditate on Psalm 39:4-6, asking God to show them ways that they could make the most of their time here on earth by bringing glory to Him. Thoughts of heaven and eternity (and where you will spend it) were encouraged. They were inspired to spend time in prayer, asking God to show them the importance of the time they have here on earth.

STATION 9: PICTURES OF JESUS

We had set up at this station a projector that showed different images of Christ through the ages. Some of them were quite interesting (pictures of Jesus made from bar codes) or quite intricate (pictures of Jesus painted from the Renaissance). People were encouraged to think about their own understanding of Jesus and their call as a disciple of Christ. They were to consider the images that affirmed their understanding of Jesus and the ones that challenged them. Ultimately, they were to focus on John 14:6, knowing that there is only one way to the Father - through Jesus Christ. 

At the end of the evening, J and I felt that the interactive prayer night was a success. It was intended to be more of an experimental way to get acquainted with prayer. However, as a Christian, it is important to know that we are to be ready to pray in all situations...even in those more awkward situations. In fact, we are to pray continually (I Thessalonians 5:17)! But perhaps this night was used to open the eyes of someone to know how incredibly, beautifully simple communication with our Saviour can be!

It's Nifty to be Thrifty!

The place smelled like cheap laundry detergent, wet snow, and dust. It's cluttered and especially colourful - a hodge podge of eccentric trinkets - a real treasure trove! I rubbed my hands in delight, excited to embark on a haphazard expedition. 

Can you guess the place? 

Imagine my delight when I discovered that Value Village is only a half hour walk (2.1 km to be exact) from my apartment! The fact that it was -20 yesterday did not stop me from bundling up, bracing the cold winds, and exploring the nooks and crannies of the best known department thrift store. 

I think the walk took me a little longer than half an hour. It was slippery, I couldn't feel my toes, my nose felt like an icicle, and I had to keep clapping my hands to keep warm. But, as I tramped into the store, the warm embrace from aisles of books, shoes, purses, kitchen gadgets, dresses, and games made it all worth it. 

I've always shopped at Thrift Stores. Mostly out of necessity. I started buying my own clothes as soon as I started babysitting - the reason being, my mom and I did not have the same style, resulting in me NEVER wearing anything Mum bought for me. Making $5 an hour babysitting also did not lend itself to shopping sprees at American Eagle or Bluenotes or even...Walmart. Desperate times called for desperate measures. And so began my love affair with thrift stores. 

I began to know where all the good thrift stores in Huron County were located. I knew which ones were pricey, which ones that sold name brand, which ones that had the best sales, which ones that you could talk down in price, which ones that always seemed to have jeans in my size, which ones that carried the funkiest jewelry...the list went on and on and on. As my acquaintances with second hand shops grew, so did my closet. 

As a teenager, my thrift shopping escapades were usually dominated by my hunger for unique apparel. However, I have recently found myself drifting over to the pots and pans, home decor, and books. In fact, yesterday, I came home with an abundance of books (all national bestsellers within the past 5 years, at that!), games and pictures. Not a single stitch of clothing was to be found amongst my purchases. Perhaps my priorities have shifted slightly...

While I no longer shop at Thrift Stores out of necessity, it's a long time habit that's hard to break. There's something about the thrill of never knowing with what I may come home. Or knowing that a lot of these stores purchase their "nearly new" merchandise from non-profit partners to support fundraising efforts. Or that the money made goes to refreshing and regenerating the practical needs of those who are marginalized and excluded from society. Hmmm...perhaps it's a long time habit that's worth preserving! 

Here's just a few of my favourite "boutiques:"

http://www.talize.com

www.valuevillage.com

http://thriftstore.ca

http://www.asecondlook.com

The Auntie's Cookbook

There's something about using recipes that have been passed down through the generations...

This afternoon, I had a case of some serious culinary mind freeze. I had 4 chicken breasts thawing...and I was pouring over my myriads of cookbooks. After a while, all the recipes started to look the same, each of them claiming their own unique flavours, simmered to perfection for an explosion of savoury delight. One recipe wanted me to use cream of chicken soup, another cream cheese, another sour cream, another soy sauce...the list of endless ingredients went on...and on...and on.

J ended up calling me to let me know that he would be home from work early tonight, and STILL those four chicken breasts remained on their plate, shining in all their raw, pink glory. And nothing had yet triggered my palatable senses.

With only an hour before J would be home, I turned to an old stand-by: The Fabulous Frugal Fast Favourite Foods of The Girls from Gorrie...since that's too much of a mouthful, I fondly call it "The Auntie's Cookbook." This huge 3 ringed binder full of recipes is a family heirloom of sorts. My grandma, my mom and my four aunts collaborated this book of all their tried and true recipes a few years back to pass down to their grandchildren/children/nieces and nephews once we all passed the threshold of adulthood. Basically, these recipes were to keep us from eating take-out when we were poor students or newly married.

One of my favourite parts of this eclectic medley of recipes is the personal notes each contributor has left beside their recipes. For example, my mom posted a recipe called "Poor Man's Dinner," which she ironically wrote beside, "Delicious! With million dollar taste!" Or the "Strawberry Pie" recipe that apparently was "from the day of Mom's cancer surgery." (Although I'm not quite sure why such a morbid notation was made...) Needless to say, there are times when I will just plop down on the couch, open up The Auntie's Cookbook, and feel like they're right in the room with me...all talking at once, all sharing their stories, all in my face, but all desiring to put good food in my belly. And, it's comforting.

I didn't have time to sit and be sentimental this afternoon, however, and luckily enough, I turned to page 5 and found: "Barbecue Chicken," submitted by Mum. While the title of the recipe sounds completely lackluster (at least compared to the Lemon-Basil-Splash-of-Balsamic-Sprinkled-with-Parmesan Chicken recipes I had be looking at earlier), the fact that there were only 5 ingredients spoke volumes as the clock quickly ticked away.

BARBECUE CHICKEN

21/2 - 3 lbs cut up chicken
1 envelope onion soup mix
1/2 cup ketchup
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup water

Place a large sheet of aluminum foil onto a shallow baking pan. Foil should overlap the pan on all sides. Arrange chicken pieces, single layer. Combine the rest and pour evenly over chicken. Cover and seal edges. Bake at 375 for 50 min. Uncover for the last 10-15 minutes.

Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to show you of how it turned out, but believe me when I say that it's a simmering, spicy conglomeration of goodness. And oh so easy. So, thanks, Mum - it's always fun to cook with you in the kitchen!

1) Abide

Abide. What do you think of when you hear that word? I looked up the definition and discovered it means "to remain in one place; to continue to be sure or firm; to dwell or sojourn." 

As a small group leader for YACC (Young Adults College and Careers) at our church, we are undergoing a study called "Abide," where we learn to abide in God and in the time that we spend with Him. If I was to share my opinion with you about personal time with God, I would likely tell you that it's important - it's something that should be done.

I'm a big list person. Every morning I start off my day with writing a list of things to accomplish by the time the sun goes down. Always at the top of my list, I write down: 1) Devotions. And, typically, about half an hour later, I will take up that list and put a big, black line through the word "Devotions," breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that "phew! I got that out of the way!", and then continue on with my day.

Since when did my worship with God become a 30 minute time slot that I needed to put a harsh, angry scratch through? It's like I set an egg timer and as soon as the bell would ring, I would stuff our omnipresent God back into His box, only to allow Him out the next day for His daily scheduled appointment. "To dwell or sojourn" has had no place in my devotional walk.

I looked up the antonyms of "abide" and was shocked at what I found: "depart, migrate, leave, reject, resist, quit, hurry, move..." And while those words may seem a bit drastic, allow the reality of them to sink in. Up until now, every time I closed my Bible up, I would migrate to the next thing on my list, depart and hurry onto other more pressing matters.

God, teach me to abide. Slow me down so that I allow my thoughts to dwell and sojourn, to remain in one place, to continue to be sure and firm on You. Change my daily list to read: 1) Abide. And let me not put a line through it. Instead, grant me the perseverance to never fully accomplish or finish abiding in You.

Cherry Blossoms and Conflict Resolution

I had my first ever group interview today at Warm Embrace Elder Care. www.warmembrace.ca  The position that I am being interviewed for is a companion aide (where I go into the elderly client's home and enable them to still live independently by helping them with groceries, taking them to doctor's appointments, making their meals, cleaning their home, and over-all keeping them company etc).

I've heard the horror stories about group interviews - the on-the-spot thinking in front of a large group of strangers, the "team-building" interactive scenarios etc... I am here to calm the nerves of everyone out there who may be full of fear and trepidation about such an upcoming interview.

I will admit that I was somewhat nervous this morning about going for an interview. It's been a few years since I've really had a proper interview, and there's a huge difference between being interviewed for a hairstyling position and being interviewed for a caregiver position. I remember my interview for my salon job - I was dressed to the nines. I had gone tanning a couple of weeks previously, so that my make-up looked perfect. I had funky pink and purple chunks highlighted through my hair and my accessories were top drawer. In essence, half of my resume was presented in the way my make-up, my hair and my clothing were portrayed. Imagine my relief when most of the women who were being interviewed with me today had their hair tied back in pony-tails, weren't wearing any make-up, and accessories were at a minimum. (Although, I may have taken it a little too casual in wearing jeans. I did notice that I was the only one wearing them, despite the fact that they were dark wash and obviously dressy!) Perhaps it was because I was in a room of caregiver "types" that made the group interview a little less intimidating. Or perhaps it was because most of the women with whom I was being interviewed were older, with motherly characteristics. Either way, the fears of a group interview were quickly dissipated once I walked in the door.

We did play an interactive game, forcing us to get up and get to know each other, called Caregiver Bingo. I learnt that Shelley does not have Facebook; Pat likes murder mysteries; Lily has the same shoe size as me; Phyllis keeps a journal; and Raven enjoys gardening. Needless to say, I won the game and proudly took home a Cherry Blossom bubble bath set as a prize! That was definitely the first interview I've walked away from where I left with more than I came in with!

There was no way to avoid the on-the-spot questions, however. I was one of the last ones to be quizzed, so it gave me time to think of how I would answer each other candidate's question. The woman named Raven got asked, "When have you been in a situation where there was a dispute that you had to settle?" Raven was a very gentle woman - she looked sort of like a washed-up, old hippie. She was silent for a long while, and then said in a dreamy kind of voice, "I'm grateful to be living a life that is void of disputes." She then continued to sit in comfortable silence before she rendered up an example from her dispute-free life about how she conducted a survey for student rights.  I recall thinking, "Wow! Am I ever glad that I didn't get asked that question!" I definitely do not have a portfolio full of dispute settlements. I tend to rather be the one who stirs the pot, fueling the fire for controversy, than the peace-maker. The questions continued to flow around the circle, each one easy enough to answer.  Wouldn't you know it, by the time my turn came around, all the other questions must have been used up because I got asked the same question as Raven. Ironic is what I call it.

I definitely didn't sit in dreamy silence. I looked up at the ceiling. Tapped my foot. Said "ummmmm." And then "oh wow...." And to be honest, I can't quite recall what I said about my experience in solving disputes, but it must have been satisfactory enough because my answer was greeted with nods of approval and encouraging "hmmms" from all the other matronly-like applicants.

The rest of the interview consisted of scenario solving questions, which I was able to answer confidently and precisely. I left the interview feeling pretty satisfied and hopeful. The next stage of interviews will be taking place on Friday and Monday, so I should know by tomorrow whether or not I made the cut.

I can say that it was an overall positive experience despite the fact that I wore jeans and was stumped on my question of conflict resolution. And if I don't get the job? Either way, it's ok. My qualms have diminished surrounding all group interview myths, PLUS I've got a tub full of soapy cherry blossom bubbles to soak in!

Hannah and Joseph

As I mentioned before, I previously was a hairstylist. What people say about "Only my hairdresser knows!" really is true. For some reason, as soon as a client sit in your chair, you automatically become their best friend, whether they are young or old. Secrets are shared, tears flow and gossip is rampant between client and hairstylist. It is truly one of the most unique relationships I have ever experienced.

Being a hairstylist has changed me in a lot of ways. I view things differently. I learn to not take people necessarily at face value. I discover ways to accentuate hidden beauty. But most of all, I learn to be friends with extremely diverse people. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss that interaction with my clients.

What would surprise me the most would be how often God would reveal Himself to me through my clients. I came across an old journal entry I had written about a year ago that gives a little glimpse into my life as a stylist:

"Oh the beauty of child-like faith! Hannah was three years old, with fluffy blonde curls. She was perched on a booster seat, squirming, tilting her head this way and that while I tried to cut her hair, all the while chattering away incessantly. Every other phrase started off with, 'But why?' as she would scrunch up her nose in deep contemplation. Suddenly, she let out a big gasp, and her round blue eyes got even rounder.

'I have a movie about Joseph!' she squeaked.

'Oh ya?' I replied, smiling.

Hannah nodded her head vigourously.

'And he had brothers and his brothers SOLD him! And they threw him in a pit and they SOLD him!'

She looked intently at me for a proper reaction.

'Oh no!' I said. 'Did they throw him in a pit because he had a colourful coat and his dad loved Joseph more than them?'

Her eyes widened even more, shocked that I would know the same story.

'Yes! And they SOLD him! And he went far, far away and then his brothers came back and they became friends and they lived happily ever after. The end.'

Hannah was beaming, so proud that she had so accurately depicted the Joseph story.

After this vivacious little three-year-old left, I couldn't help but marvel at the transparency, the vulnerability, the pure excitement she had over one simple Bible story. God put Hannah in my chair today to show me His love and His faithfulness.

'Oh, God!' I cried out. 'Give me the courage and faith of Hannah - to proclaim Your love and forgiveness without shame. Give me the strength to cling to childlike faith. Help me to never forget that likewise, You SOLD Your Son - You SOLD Him! So that He could forgive me, and be my friend, and we could live happily ever after. The end.'"

Worlds Apart

J and I had our ROOF training this afternoon at church. For those of you who don't know what ROOF is, it stands for: Reaching Our Outdoor Friends - an organization that comes alongside homeless youth in the Waterloo region, giving them essential services to maintain a somewhat "regular" day-to-day life. Here's their link: http://www.roof-agency.net/

I came home, very overwhelmed, realizing how completely unequipped I am for such a daunting task. Not only does my mind not comprehend how some young people have such horrific backgrounds, but I can barely fathom the idea of living day-by-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, moment-by-moment with the uncertainty that must plague these young people. My eyes are opened to how utterly naive I am.

I grew up in a solid family. My parents are still together, and still love one another. Neither of them have either molested or abused me. I've had consistency in my life. I never doubted whether or not I would come home, have dinner, go to sleep in a warm bed,  or know that I was loved by my family members. In fact, I'm ashamed to admit how often I have taken those most essential building blocks for granted. Instead, I would complain about the paint colour in my bedroom, sigh over the fact that Mum made supper with spinach...AGAIN, bemoan the fact that my brother had the comfier mattress, and argue with my parents over curfew.

http://www.roof-agency.net/roofpress/?p=92

Which brings me to the looming question: How in the world will I ever relate to these people, when my most earth-shattering annoyances are likely grievances they desire to have the option to grumble about? How is it possible to even bridge the gap between my world and their world? What hope can I possibly give them, when I've never lived in a world of hopelessness?  It is here that I am reminded of the prayer of Jabez: 1 Chronicles 4:10 "Jabez cried out to the God of Israel, 'Oh, that You would bless me and enlarge my territory!'"

So often as Christians, it's easy to stay within our own little bubble, where we feel safe. The idea of stepping out of our comfort zones, or enlarging our territories, to reach out to those who are less fortunate is often shrugged off, passing that duty along to the missionaries. My experience, growing up in Christian circles, is that it's much easier to shove money at "problems" out there in the world, rather than doing something. Don't get me wrong, so many of these reputable organizations need money to continue doing the work they do. However, without the hands, the visions, the work ethics of those "money-shovers," the "problems" are never truly solved.

Basically, it doesn't matter that I don't have the same experiences to relate to these youth. It's immaterial that my world and their world are separated by millions of light years. What matters is that my territory is expanding, my limits are being stretched, my hands are being used and most importantly, that God is calling us all to that purpose.