Mixed Motives

   I’m having some trouble with mixed motives. I ask myself, “Why did you decide to create a blog?” The answers include having a space to share my stories about God’s amazing provision in my everyday life, to improve my writing, and to encourage others. However, it becomes very easy to allow the tendency of self-promotion to obscure my vision.  Checking how many page views I have had over the past week and wondering if anyone has commented on one of my posts can get out of hand.

   I’m reminded of Joni Eareckson Tada whose beautiful artwork is sketched or painted by mouth because she was paralyzed from the neck down. Each time she signed her name on the canvas, she wrote Joni PTL. PTL (“Praise the Lord”) was her way of acknowledging that what she accomplished was not her own doing but a gift from God.

   Centuries earlier, the gifted musician JS Bach ended his compositions with the letters SDG, Soli Deo Gloria (Latin for “To God alone be the glory”). He wanted those who appreciated his music to understand his ultimate goal was not self-honor.

   I’m well aware that I am not in the same league as the Christians I have mentioned, but I too need to consciously write my posts with the goal of God being glorified rather than myself. If any of my posts comes across as self-glorifying, please call me on it.  I know I haven’t arrived. 

Simple Dutch Meal Remixed

This week I cooked a meal for a busy family with a multiple birth.  I had been told about the dietary restriction of no milk and no cheese, so I opted for simple.

   A Dutch meal I grew up with (and which is pretty much always in season) is “Hutspot.”  All you do is peel and cut up potatoes, carrots and onions according to the proportions you like best.  Boil until tender, then mash with milk, margarine and salt & pepper to taste.  It is often served with sausage and gravy.

   To remix this meal for the lactose intolerant, I sliced the potatoes as I would for scalloped potatoes and boiled them with the carrots.  Meanwhile I fried Oktoberfest sausage, cut in pieces, along with the onion.  Instead of mashing the vegetables, I stirred everything together with a little margarine.  My family ate it this way too, and it was a hit.

Why I still like Snail Mail

When I was growing up the arrival of mail was marked by a small red flag being raised on my rural mailbox.  Getting the mail was an event because our neighbours lived far away and our stack often included letters from overseas where my mom’s relatives lived.

   Since the spring I have a new reason to enjoy the daily delivery of snail mail.  I became an instructor for the Crossroads Bible Institute, so I receive lessons completed by inmates across Canada for me to mark.  Part of my responsibilities is to write a letter of encouragement to the student.  When I write these letters I answer any questions the student has posed and share my faith journey as appropriate.  Some of the questions I’ve had lately are “Was God ruthless?  If yes, why was he ruthless?” and “If it says in the Bible, ‘Ask and you will receive,’ why have I not received what I have asked for.”  As I write these letters, I realize that my efforts can make mail delivery into an event for a man or woman with few contacts with the outside world.

   Inmates are not the only ones who’d love to receive snail mail.  Picking up a pen and taking the time to write could mean a great deal to a senior, shut-in, or a small child.

The Gift of Sleep

Freerange Stock photo

“[God] grants sleep to those he loves”    ~Psalm 127: 2b

“90% of behaviour problems in children are due to lack of sleep”   ~my husband

   As a parent and teacher I am keenly aware of the importance of sleep for people of all ages.  Starting when our children were babies, our nighttime prayers as a couple have included a request for restful sleep for us all.  Without a good night’s rest it becomes much harder to function and face the challenges of the day.

   Those who know me are aware that my husband is not an expert in sleep research.  However, there are studies to back up his assertion about the effects of sleep deprivation on children.  They definitely extend beyond discipline issues.

   According to the authors of Nurture Shock (2010)[1], children are especially affected by lack of sleep.  They state:

• Many children stay up much later than they should because of  too many evening activities, homework, lax bed times, technology in bedrooms and parental guilt over not spending time with their children.
• In a study by the University of Virginia Grade 6 students who had one less hour of sleep than their peers scored the same as 4^th graders on standardized tests.
• Sleep helps children learn and put that learning into their long-term memories.
• Sleep deprived individuals (including adults) have greater difficulty recalling pleasant memories but recall negative experiences with clarity.
• Lack of sleep is the main cause of childhood obesity.  Sleep loss triggers a hormone that signals hunger; therefore, tired children eat more.  As well, sleep deprivation elevates a stress hormone, which stimulates the body to turn energy into fat.

   As we adapt to school routines again, part of our homework as parents is to make sure we help our children get enough sleep.  According to the Sleep Foundation, these are the guidelines for children's sleep requirements:
1-3 years old: 12-14 hours per day
3-5 years old: 11-13 hours per day/night
5-12 years old: 10-11 hours per night

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[1] This book was written by Po Bronsen and Ashley Merryman.  It deals with several myths affecting parents and their children.

Just Enough

   The last week of August was the week I would go camping when I was growing up.  One incident that happened when I was about twelve years old is another testimony to God’s providence.

   It was a cool morning when we awoke at our campsite.  The dew twinkled on the short grass and the tall weeds.  It was the day to head home, and we had used up most of our food.  It was before the days of ATM’s, and Dad’s wallet was empty.  It was not a worry, though.  We had enough gas to make the 2-3 hour drive home.

   My parents took one last walk along the beach before packing up all of our gear.  Sticking out of a pile of sand, Mom spotted one half of a ten-dollar bill.  It was a little damp, so she was careful not to tear it.   

   We went on our way.  It was time for a bathroom break and lunch, so we stopped at a roadside picnic area near Blyth, Ontario.  We ate our leftover food and were ready to go. 

   “Oh, no,” said Dad, “Where are the keys?” 

   After discussing it, we realized the keys must have been locked in the trunk.  Since Mom didn’t have a driver’s license, she didn’t carry a second set.

   An older man in a car stopped to use the portable washroom, so Dad asked for a ride into town to get a tow truck.  About half an hour later, a man in a truck came with Dad in the passenger seat.  He knew just what to do.  He removed the back seat and pulled things out from the trunk until we heard the jingle of keys.

  “Thank you so much!” Dad said to the man.  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Ten dollars,” the man replied.

   Mom pulled out the bill she found at the beach, and we each went our separate ways.

The Compassion-Blame Continuum

   It’s a very old story; many say it is the oldest book in the Bible.  A man named Job experiences one catastrophe after another, and his three friends come to comfort him.  During the first seven days and seven nights, “they sat on the ground with him…No one said a word to him because they saw how great his suffering was” (Job 2:13).  This is compassion.  It is not always necessary to use words because presence speaks volumes.

   At the end of one week, the friends move into investigator mode and try to figure out who is to blame for all the losses Job has suffered.  Their compassion evaporates as they bombard him with speeches that presume there is a secret sin in Job’s life.

   We give Job’s friends a hard time, but isn’t it true that we often turn from comforter to investigator in minutes.  We find out an acquaintance has been in a car accident, and the next thing we want to know is if he or she was at fault.  A news report tells of a fatal lightning strike and before letting the pain of such an event touch us, we think someone should have followed safety rules during an electrical storm.

   Why is it so important to us as humans to lay blame?  I’ve been pondering this for more than a decade after one woman’s insensitive comments to me when one of my cousins tragically lost his life.  I think there are at least three reasons that we lean towards being amateur investigators of tragic events:

• It protects us from the real pain of the situation by distracting us from the main issue.  Let’s face it: compassion is costly emotionally and relationally.
• It can assure us that the same terrible thing could never happen to us.  It’s is a delusion, of course, because nobody is immune to tragedy in one form or other.
• It gives us a way to vent anger.  When things are not “the way they’re supposed to be,” blaming someone (even the victim) can feel better than remaining silent.

   It is a big world out there with so much misery.  Our emotional resources are limited, but approaching human suffering with compassion is still the best option for those of us who are not paid to respond to emergencies.  When it comes to judging, we can leave that to the One who is all-knowing.

Found: Live Wire in the Wall

My family has been living in the same house for six years, almost to the day.  Since moving in we have found a few surprises, but by far the biggest and worst occurred on Friday night.

Since February we noticed a black spot on the laminate flooring against an outside wall of the house in one of the upstairs bedrooms.  Thinking it was mould, I wiped it clean but it reappeared.  Last week we were thinking about repainting this bedroom, so my husband decided to investigate the spot by removing the baseboard in this area.

He found a power wire (shown here), which was originally for an electric baseboard heater, with its end wrapped in now charred black electrical tape.  These wires, unknown to the previous owners and us, continued to be “live" at the end.  The black mark we kept seeing was the result of occasional arcing between the one live wire and the ground wire.  My husband took immediate steps to disable this hazard.

That night our family discussed how our God shielded us all these years, protecting us from a house fire that could easily have been ignited by a tissue or other flammable item carelessly left near this wire on the other side of the wall.  While nobody would want to find such a wire in the wall, we are grateful that this risk could be addressed before something terrible happened.