Spacious Hearts

 
 What is it about kids that just renovates your heart?

You think you've reached a capacity, that you couldn't possibly love any bigger, and then another one moves in and, well wouldn't you know, there's lots of room!

I've been thinking about this a lot in these last days of preparation for spending three months away from home, at home with 26 kids who have found room in their hearts for me.  And even in using the word 'home' twice in that sentence, I understand what is implied.  That my heart has at least two homes.

The crazy thing about it, one home doesn't diminish the heart-space for the other.   Just as loving one child doesn't 'use up' love meant for another, or being part of one family doesn't push out the space for being part of the other, there always seems to be more than enough room.

It's part of my motherhood story that what I had deeply longed for was a large family.  Didn't happen, not out of my own body.  And our two adult children are amazing and I'm proud of them both, and the partners they've chosen, and I'm glad for the way of being family we have become.  But there was a time, a long time actually, when I felt unfinished.  Eventually I was able to let that go and embrace a new thing, a new way of nurturing, through the opportunities I have been given to serve as a pastor.


And I love what I'm allowed to be and do among my phenomenal faith community.  But it's also part of my pastor story that there have been difficult, desolate chapters.  Times of unmitigated stress and anguish, of grief and bewilderment.

And then, after a while, more children did arrive.  Three in the astonishing gifts of grandchildren.   And then, who knew!, twenty six more in the gifts of reclaimed treasures half way around the world.

So I look up now, and wonder, where did all these amazing children come from?

I am reminded of a similar question put into the mouths of a displaced people by a prophet, long, long ago.

"But Zion said, 'The LORD has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.'
"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has born?
Though she may forget, I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands....
Your sons hasten back, and those who laid you waste depart form you.
As surely as I live," declares the LORD, "you will wear them all as ornaments;  you will put them on, like a bride.
"Though you were ruined and made desolate and your land laid waste,
now you will be too small for your people....
The children born during your bereavement will yet say in your hearing,
'This place is too small for us; give us more space to live in.'
Then you will say in your heart,
'Who bore me these?  I was bereaved and barren; I was exiled and rejected.
Who brought these up?  I was left all alone, but these - where have they come from?"
Isaiah 49:14-21

It was in the middle of some of those dark and bewildering times that these words first captured my heart and gave me some hope to wonder on.  Being careful not to take this outside the realm of the prophet's original intent - there was an original audience for this after all - there still seemed so much that described my feelings and circumstance at the time.  And in the text God does seem to want to bring reassurance to a discouraged people.

At the time, being a typical pastor focused on church growth, I wanted these words in Isaiah to be some sort of reassurance about Sunday morning attendance at Highview.  I now see how small a dream that was.


Because hearts and imaginations and dreams and God's ways are far bigger than the limits of my self.  We love because He first loved us, it says.  And our capacity, apparently, can grow to the degree we let go and let Him do whatever His expansive heart desires.

I expect more expanding renovations will happen for me while I am away.  They are sometimes painful and messy, so I should expect that too.  But in the right Hands, the finished product is always a beautiful thing.

Six Months of Summer

I am early out on the patio again, this summer Saturday morning.  This outside space is one of three that offers sanctuary to my wintered soul; here by my little fountain, by the pond at the church, and of course the deck and/or dock at the cottage. 

This morning the temperature is pleasant, but I would also be quite content if it was cooler.  "Fresh" is how I describe it.  "Freezing" for my not-so-inclined-outdoors husband.  But I don't seem to mind sitting outside well into the fall season, with a cup of tea steaming beside me and an extra fleece blanket around my legs.  Just let me be outdoors for as long as possible.

But this year I will miss that gradual cooling part of the outdoors experience.  In fact I will skip fall altogether.

Earlier this week there was a prank posting on Facebook claiming that Environment Canada was predicting an early and severe start to winter in Ontario.  The picture showed a street piled high with snow, and the date that was suggested for such a scene was October 1st.  I saw it, and in the first moments when I thought it was legit, I felt bad...for all of you.  But me?  This year my summer lasts six months.

Unless things get early-autumnized by September 15, I will leave Canada while it's still summer, and arrive back two weeks before Christmas.  I know on the calendar fall actually ends December 21, but nobody's fooling us Southwestern Ontarians.   In our minds, winter begins with the first snowfall, which experience tells us normally happens, if not October 1, then certainly well before Christmas.  Most of the time anyways.

So I expect to arrive home to winter weather.  Having spent six months outdoors.

Almost all of waking life at Hot Springs happens without walls.  Every meal, doing homework and chores, games and crafts, just hanging around under the shelters playing guitar or ping pong.  And even when inside, for Sunday morning worship service or daily devotions, windows and doors are open wide and the outdoors, in more ways than one, comes in.  Sometimes bugs, sometimes sideways rain, but mostly in the form of hotly-coveted moving air.

Even two narrow properties along the road at the guest house that will be my room while I'm there, there is a covered porch with a small table and chairs.  I hope to be able to borrow or buy a suitable reading chair and spend most of my reading time outdoors, either there or somewhere shady at Hot Springs proper.   And I will shop at outdoor markets and visit classrooms that have only three walls, and worship with inmates whose meeting space connects with a common courtyard, and ride sometimes in the back of a truck all exposed and wild and uncovered.

Six months in flip flops.  Six months outside.

Thing is, I love fall too.  As much as I love to get outdoors come spring, there is also delight at the other end when things get 'fresh' and colours break free and tea steams beside me on the patio.  And then, when it's too fresh even for that, the first lighting of the fireplace and the warmth of a candle in the cozy sacred spaces of my indoor world; my office, the family room; my bed.

So I'm wondering. What does six months of summer feel like?

Will any of this matter by the time I get back?  Somehow I'm guessing that what I'm about to embark on will find me asking different questions upon re-entry.  Thing is, I can't even begin to imagine what they might be, here and now, on my patio on a pleasant summer's morning.   I don't know what six months of summer will feel like, or what three months away from my husband, family and church will feel like.  I don't know, really, what I'm in for, as comfortable as I feel with Thai culture now.  What will it be like to be immersed for that long?  Of course, not long at all compared to astonishingly courageous pioneers in cross cultural ministry who have served in times past and are serving right now.  But for me, longer than the three weeks I've experienced before.

My long time favourite Canadian music artist Steve Bell, composed a song based on a poem by St, John of the Cross and titled it the same as the poem, "Dark Night Of the Soul".  It's at least in part about a journey of spiritual depth into something unknown and risky.  Two stanzas in particular seem to sing into how I see what I'm about to do.

The hour made secure
And concealed the flight to my beloved
I took a chance
Left familiar treasures well behind
Too far for comforting

I went out by myself
Seen by no one else
Somewhat reckless journey from the start
Pressing through the night
Without light or guide
Save the fire that consumed my heart 
(Dark Night of the Soul - Steve Bell)

The questions I'm asking in the deeper places of me go far beyond what it's like to spend six months in summer.  That part seems like a gift.  But so will be the experiences that are not so flip-flopily welcome.  In fact, I expect my heart to be dismantled again, as it has in some way every single time I've gone before..

And I leave, trusting in the One who, to my mind, has orchestrated this whole thing, and, to my soul, has proven Himself faithful in every season, no matter how long it lasts.

The hour made secure
And concealed the flight to my beloved
I took a chance
And left familiar treasures well behind
Too far for comforting
I went out by myself
Seen by no one else
A somewhat reckless journey from the start
Pressing through the night
Without light or guide
Save the fire that consumed my heart
- See more at: http://stevebell.com/2007/06/dark-night-of-the-soul/#sthash.Y93RUjDi.dpuf

The hour made secure
And concealed the flight to my beloved
I took a chance
And left familiar treasures well behind
Too far for comforting
I went out by myself
Seen by no one else
A somewhat reckless journey from the start
Pressing through the night
Without light or guide
Save the fire that consumed my heart
- See more at: http://stevebell.com/2007/06/dark-night-of-the-soul/#sthash.Y93RUjDi.dpuf

Preparation Presence

Oh the lists!

I love lists, but even for me, what seems necessary in order to execute a three-months-away plan has me shaking my head, sometimes vigorously, just to make them all fall back into their ordered space.

A list for what needs to be done regarding the internship (with Tyndale) itself.  Forms filled, meetings met, bibliographies compiled, and appropriate resources, both paper and electronic, to take with me to complete my requirements.

A list for the Directed Reading and Research I'll be doing as well (again with Tyndale).  Same deal.  Forms, meetings, bibliographies and resources. 

A list for what needs to be adequately handed over to ensure Highview continues into a strong fall season.  Capable Staff and Volunteers make this not only possible, but a happy expectation.  Still, there's a lot in my role that is hidden work, and needs to be explained and delegated.  The obvious stuff, preaching for example, has been easy to assign.  It's all the essential minutia that needs the list.

A list for what I'll need for ministry in Thailand; sermons and devotionals with the kids, props, small gifts for when I visit in the villages, ideas and outlines for other opportunities, like speaking at the women's jail, or in Chaig Mai to a student conference.

A list for personal stuff.  Visa, international driver's permit, medical check ups and travel prescriptions.  And the packing, oh the packing!!!!  And helping Ken to prepare as well.  Bug spray and afterbite and personal products not available there.  Vitamins and supplements and rescue snacks.  And what money I should bring, and making sure my bank card will work at the Chiang Mai ATMS.  And more.  I have it all written down.

But even with it all written down, I find myself increasingly distracted.  Which is a problem.  Because what I don't want to do is to leave before I go. 

Felt it this weekend when the kids were here for their last sleepover until I return.  Not the last time I'll see them, by any means, but still.  And I just wanted to be fully present in the moment with them, listening to their stories, watching them play, holding them in those quieter cuddly moments.

Felt it again on Sunday, and the self-added stress of realizing that this would be my fifth-last sermon delivered before I'm gone, and having a harder time than usual, because of that, shaking off that poor-delivery feeling when it was done.

Feel it mostly with Ken, I think.  Even though he's coming with me for the first 10 days (oh sing my heart's hallelujah!) there's still something building in the space between us that starts to feel like a need to urgently 'be with' as much as we can right now.

I am thrilled beyond my imagination that I am actually allowed to go on this adventure, so don't get me wrong.  That's what makes all the lists and the execution of them worth it.

But in this space between then and now, four weeks and closing, I am particularly aware of the need to be fully present with, well, everyone. 

And even more aware of the need to keep my heart fine-tuned to the Presence of the One I believe is orchestrating all of this for me. 

Somehow, I doubt God needs lists to keep it all straight in His head.

A Visa Ordeal

Six weeks to go before Ken and I head to Thailand.  He'll be there for the first ten days, but I'm not coming home until December 11!

As already communicated, this is a three month education sabbatical during which I will complete a required Pastoral Internship, and also a Directed Reading and Research credit (on Johannine Theology). 

Both Highview and my immediate family have been so generous to release me to this adventure.

Got my visa on Thursday!  For an account of that 'ordeal' and some musings as I prepare, check out the link to my personal blog Bread and Honey. 

And keep an eye on Highview to Thailand for more.


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