Gold in my kitchen, jewels in my laundry

Yesterday a friend’s Facebook status shared that another friend’s husband had died suddenly, leaving her with 2 young children, widowed at 35. Sobering. “You don’t know what it’s got till it’s gone” (Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi). Comments under my friend’s status reflected on the need to appreciate what is and not take anything for granted.

How many times have I wondered, What I was thinking in getting married?  There were struggles in singleness, but marriage has often blindsided me with weakeness. My single self certainly had plenty of insecurities, but marriage has abounded with days of feeling consciously incompetent! Well, Luther has been reading my mail. Marriage is not the easiest path. Ah, but it is a God-ordained path, which makes it a good path and the one I travel right now.

Luther: The Estate of Marriage (1522) LW 45: 38-40

“The world says of marriage, "Brief is the joy, lasting the bitterness." Let them say what they please; what God wills and creates is bound to be a laughingstock to them. . . .

Now the ones who recognize the estate of marriage are those who firmly believe that God himself instituted it, brought husband and wife together, and ordained that they should beget children and care for them. For this they have God's word, Genesis 1[:28], and they can be certain that God does not lie. They can therefore also be certain that the estate of marriage and everything that goes with it in the way of conduct, works, and suffering is pleasing to God. Now tell me, how can the heart have greater good, joy, and delight than in God, when one is certain that his estate, conduct, and work is pleasing to God? . . .

Now observe that when that clever harlot, our natural reason . . . takes a look at married life, she turns up her nose and say, "Alas, must I rock the baby, wash its diapers, make its bed, smell its stench, stay up nights with it, take care of it when it cries, heal its rashes and sores, and on top of that care for my wife, provide for her, labor at my trade, take care of this and take care of that, do this and do that, endure this and endure that, and whatever else of bitterness and drudgery married life involves? What, should I make such a prisoner of myself? O you poor wretched fellow, have you taken a wife? Fie, fie upon such wretchedness and bitterness! It is better to remain free and lead a peaceful, carefree life; I will become a priest or a nun and compel my children to do likewise."

What then does Christian faith say to this? It opens its eyes, looks upon all these insignificant, distasteful, and despised duties in the Spirit, and is aware that they are all adorned with divine approval as with the costliest gold and jewels. It says, "God, because I am certain that thou hast created me as a man and hast from my body begotten this child, I also know for a certainty that it meets with thy perfect pleasure. I confess to thee that I am not worthy rock the little babe or wash its diapers, or to be entrusted with the care of the child and its mother. How is it that I, without any merit, have come to this distinction of being certain that I am serving thy creature and thy most precious will? O how gladly wd I do so, . . . for I am certain that it is thus pleasing in thy sight."

A wife too should regard her duties in the same light, as she suckles the child, rocks and bathes it, and cares for it in other ways; . . . These are truly golden and noble works.”

Isn’t it interesting that Luther refers to “our natural reason” as “that clever harlot” and continues to write in apparently feminine terms, then it becomes clear that the following two paragraphs that he is addressing the husband? Fascinating that Luther should portray the man as complaining about stereotypically wifely duties.

Whether husband or wife attending to such concerns, the burdens are the same, the complaints are the same – and the dignity is the same: “adorned with of divine approval as with the costliest gold and jewels.”

Gold in my kitchen? Oh yes.

Jewels in my laundry? Indeed.

All photos (except me & a friend’s baby in our rocking chair) are under attribution copyright from flickr’s creative commons.

what I need to be creative

I need a variety of things. These days I wish for  …

• time
• some solitude
• setting aside tasks
• a good pen & a journal with smooth, thick paper
• OR a blog “canvas”
• a brain and body that can stay awake!

Sometimes it’s helpful to move physically, like walking the dog -- in silence, no podcasts!

This morning’s walk was not conducive to creativity according to the list above. We found someone else’s little runaway dog, so I brought it home, called the city number on its tag, called a vet clinic to drop it off – all while our German Shepherd noisily chased the little visitor around the house(!). After calling all over, I hooked both dogs to leashes in hopes that the owner was out looking. We had barely stepped outside when a white car honked at me from the end of the block. Found. Whew.

There! A story lived and told. Somewhat mundane, but life is very ordinary, isn’t it? With plenty of inspiration around me, I just need a bit of time and space to process it.

Take your own advice

Do you take you’re own advice? The old cliche “easier said than done” is timeless because it’s so true. I am able to give advice about writing because I’ve done it and read about it and taught it – but it’s easier to give advice based on past experience than to maintain a writing discipline of my own.

This summer my step-daughter decided she’d like to live with her mom full-time. We’ve been privileged to have her with us full-time for nearly two years as she finish junior high in the same school. It makes sense that she missed her mom and wants to be with her.

This radically changes things for my husband and I. Additionally, he is taking a year off from the elder board at our church. It’s starting to sink in that we will have a very different and somewhat lighter schedule this year. Yesterday he asked what we should do with our time.

I’ve been on hiatus from blogging since August 2011. Two years. Lately I’ve been wanting to get back to it, and I have a growing clarity about the subject matter. This summer I’ve done manuscript critiques for two women who are wondering about writing their stories. We’ve had written conversations around these critiques and, in the process, I often wished I had a series of blog posts for them – not just with my own ideas, but pointing the ideas and posts of other people.

This evening I took about 40 minutes to copy and paste one of these conversations from Facebook into a Word document. I plan to break it down into a series of blog posts. It’s eleven pages long (font: High Tower Text, font size: 11, single-spaced with a break between each paragraph). That’s a lot of material! That’s a lot of advice.

So do I take my own advice? Yes and no. Not always in the structured way that I advocate. But that’s one answer to my husband’s question: both of us would like to work on writing projects. Developing this blog will be one of mine. Regularly writing in my journal will be another.

For the record, even though this blog has been silent for two years, I have still been writing. Here are links to a series that I recently wrote for Ambrose University College Bookstore’s Facebook page:

Why we carry fair trade gift products.

1. Because they are meaningful.
2. Because they dignify.
3. Because they make a positive difference.
4. Because they are beautiful.

What advice do you tend to give a lot? In what ways are you taking your own advice?

 

* Pictured above: our cat Finnick. He’s one of my writing helpers – though it’s not very helpful when he sits on my work!

 

Encouragement in Action

"The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down." ~ Proverbs 14:1

Here's an excerpt from Spiritual Mothering by Susan Hunt.

The wise woman will have a building influence in her relationships; a foolish woman will have a destructive influence in her relationships. And this influence extends beyond the home to every part of her life where she has the opportunity to affect the atmosphere. A church that has the combination of sound preaching from the pulpit and a unified effort of encouragement from the pews will be dynamite! And I personally believe that it is primarily women who bring the energy of encouragement into a church.

The encouragement imperative tells us to "... consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds." To understand how to put this into practice, visualize a cave with people hiding inside. This represents people hiding their spiritual gifts. It is impossible to "spur them on to love and good deeds" when they are hiding.

But why are they hiding? Usually the assumption is made that these people are not committed to the Lord or to the ministry of the church. Their non-involvement is interpreted as lack of commitment. Of course the commitment level is sometimes a problem. But more often, the problem is not lack of commitment but lack of confidence.

Generally, people are in the cave because that is the safest place to be, or at least, they perceive it to be the safest place. Involvement necessitates vulnerability that is risky. What if I fail? What if I don't meet the expectations of others? What if I'm criticized or rejected? Most of us simply are not willing to take that kind of risk unless we are operating in a safe environment.

God provides safety for His people. We should seek to do the same.
"For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock." (Psalm 27:5)
"Serve one another in love." (Galatians 5:13)

We must make it safer for people to be outside of the cave than it is to be inside the cave. And God tells us how to do this: "let us not give up meeting together ... let us encourage one another." Encouraging relationships can make it safe for people to come out of the cave and to use their spiritual gifts "for the common good" (1 Corinthians 12:7).
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Who encourages you? Who have you encouraged lately?

Merry Sunshine Baby

I first heard Carrie Catherine’s song “Sunshine Baby” when I covered her songwriting residency in Southey (Oct ‘08) for the Last Mountain Times newspaper. “Sunshine Baby” reminded me of a lullaby Mom used to sing to us: Good Morning, Merry Sunshine. Every since that little Southey encounter, I’ve been following Carrie’s career, particularly watching for a recording of “Sunshine Baby”!

Recently, Carrie and I have been emailing about organizing a concert for her in the Calgary area, so I told her about Mom’s little song. Carrie replied, “Just the other day, I played a gig and was asking the audience if anyone knew the original nursery rhyme containing Merry Sunshine! Although my mom called me that, I have no recollection (nor does she) of where it came from! So thanks for that! Glad you finally got the song. :)”

Until today, I had never looked for it online, but apparently it's quite long with a couple of different tunes.
I found it here with two different midi tunes. The second midi file containes the tune I'm familiar with, but it’s longer.

I found lyrics here, and a slightly different, but apparently official, set of lyrics here, with source citation. Who knew the song’s composer had a name? G. Ambrose.

How delightful to discover that the song is a dialogue between a child and the sun. And here I thought Mom's four-line lullaby was all about me!

Interestingly, my Mom's tune is very compatible with Carrie’s for a little medley. Carrie’s lyrics also reminds me of another song Mom used to sing to me and with me: "Open Up Your Heart and Let the Sun Shine In". I remember entertaining groups with this song when I was about 4 years old ... and 40 ... and many ages in between. But I didn’t know Pebbles and Bamm Bamm had performed it!

what to do this summer

Are you a creative woman who wants to think more carefully about why and how you do what you do? Check out Regent College Summer School. I especially recommend my friend Chelle’s course:

Chelle Stearns: Beauty, Brokenness, and the Cross: Exploring Atonement Theology Through the Arts, July 11–22

Of course there are lots of other courses to check out here.

Better view of above video here.

What is creativity? (part 1)

Often when people tell me they are not creative, I tell them, “Creativity is the ability to use other people’s ideas well.” The idea came from a college textbook that made a strong impression on me two decades ago: Creative Teaching Methods by Marlene LeFever.

My sister is getting married next month and because I live far away from her, I’m compiling a cookbook using The Great Family Cookbook Project. It’s fun to read the submissions & sending out little inspirational notes to the [would-be] contributors.

My next note will suggest the contributors don’t need to be original and will encourage them to share favourites from other sources. For example, one woman added “Angel Biscuits” and included her source: Company’s Coming Muffins and More. I need to include “Blender Hollandaise Sauce” from The Joy of Cooking—so easy and so scrumptious on asparagus or eggs benedict.

I found Creative Teaching Methods on Google Books (of course). In searching for the quotation above (if it IS a direct quote), I have discovered other gems, like this one:

Creativity has become a feminine word. Women are usually thought of as being more creative than men, more at ease sharing their emotions through drama, song and teaching. … “Of course not,” we say, but our attitudes don’t always back up our words.

Look a little deeper. Most creative people are both sensitive and independent. In our society sensitivity is a female characteristic, and independence is considered a masculine characteristic. (p. 37)

LeFever goes on to show that creativity is NOT just the domain of women. That’s good, because I know a lot of creative men: my brother Jeffrey (an insanely talented potter-photographer-videographer-painter-musician), my friend Grant (carver; wordsmith), the illustrious Robert Genn, my husband, etc., etc.

The problem is connotations in meaning. When most North Americans hear “feminine,” we tend to think female. The French would never make that mistake. Or when we hear feminine in relation to men, we tend to think effeminate and/or gay. True, some creative men are effeminate and/or gay, but lots of men (like the ones listed above) are not. It’s too easy to make false equivocations.

So technically, I have no problem with saying that creativity tends to be a feminine quality: not female, not effeminate, not gay, not limited to women. And I’m comfortable saying that independence is a masculine quality, but not male or beefy or limited to women. Of course, to say creativity is feminine implies softness, which is kind of true (think intuition), but it certainly requires discipline (more later), which has a masculine denotation. But creativity is NOT chiefly a womanly thing.

Do you agree or disagree? Why?

 

Originally published on 2conversations.

What is creativity? (part 2)

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When I was a kid, my mom sometimes accused me of being stubborn. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Both of us are strong-willed.

Mom and I are also curious, and share an insatiable desire to improve things. Living in Taiwan, my friend Crystal learned to recognize a look of critique in my eye and she would say, “If you were doing it?” I learned to check that impulse for criticism. The discerning eye can bring re freshing ideas, but a critical spirit is deadening: light and dark sides of creativity.

Here’s more from Marlene LeFever. Does it describe you or someone you know?

One of the most universal characteristics of a creative person is curiosity about everything: questions you wish wouldn’t be asked, insights that jus don’t dovetail with the thought you have been trying to communicate. The creative person is also imaginative. He or she actually cultivates imagination. The creative person is enthusiastic and discerning, knowing what’s good about his or her creations and what needs to be rethought. He or she will stick to ideas and productions that personal assessment affirms are worthwhile.

…

The creative person has a strong will. This often makes the student hard to teach. Creative people are convinced they know a better way, and it’s frustrating for others to admit that they sometimes do.

…

Creative students are independent in their thinking. They will not bend to the opinion of others. They enjoy being different. That marked independence often makes them leaders. This lack of bending adds some stress to their lives—and often to their teachers’ lives as well. However, this stress is one of the spurs to creativity. (page 42)

Do you recognize yourself in this description? Is there someone in your life who has some or all of these characteristics? What does it take to develop creativity like this?

What is creativity? (part 1)

Identity (part 1): grieving losses and change

When butterflies cocoon, it is the end of a life stage.

When our lives change, it is the end of something. It is also the beginning of something else, something potentially more beautiful.

Even so, no matter how good the result might be, we can’t see it. Changes bring identity shifts. We experience loss and we grieve.

One of my friends is a nurse. Well, she used to be a nurse. Now she’s a stay-at-home mom with three kids. When I met her, she was pregnant with the third. Because of family commitments and provincial regulations, she was unable to find appropriate work to keep her nursing license and had to let it go. She was grieving this loss – loss of identity, loss of options, loss of an accomplishment she had worked so hard to achieve. Her husband would say, “But what you’re doing right now is so important!” He was right, of course, but what she wanted (needed?) to hear was, “I know, sweetheart. It’s hard to let it go.”

Another friend had a similar experience with her teaching credentials. Because of their family situation it didn’t make sense for her to keep teaching, yet with a Masters degree in education, it was painful to release the career, the work. Never mind the conviction that it was the right thing for this life season; she grieved the loss.

Sometimes the grief comes from dreams unfulfilled, constantly choosing to let go of one hope for another. I wrote about that in a previous blog post called My Wailing Wall.

There’s a poignant scene in the movie Alice in Wonderland (2010), where Alice, a critical decision-point, encounters the caterpillar Absalom as he is spinning his cocoon.

Absalom: Nothing was ever accomplished with tears.

Alice: Absalom, why are you upside down?

Absalom: I’ve come to the end of this life?

Alice: You’re going to die?

Absalom: Transform.

It’s often hard to trust the process of transformation—or the God of the transformation process. But it’s crucial and necessary.

brain connections

A woman in our church recently received her second radical brain surgery to control her epileptic surgeries. She was having around 28 seizures a day, and now they are reduced to about 14 this week – huge progress. Her language abilities have been damaged, so she comprehends but it’s difficult for her to find words and form sentences in reply. Even so, her mother reports that when J sings, the language is all there. Amazing.

My friend Chelle, professor of theology at Mars Hill Graduate School, recently posted this video that explains the interconnections within the brain and touches on creativity.

We are all creatives …

You may know that through Siretona Creative, I empower women in the arts. That’s pretty specific and pretty broad at the same time. Somewhere in a box – probably in storage at my parents’ place – I have a book called God the Worker by Dorothy Sayers, in which she links our work and creativity to God’s creativity: we are made in his image, therefore we reflect his character. Even those who are “unregenerate” (i.e. not redeemed in, sanctified by, and submitted to Jesus Christ) innately reflect God’s glory in our creatureliness. Those who walk in darkness still get flashes of illumination, like lightning, once in a while.

Recently I was pondering the question again, what does it mean to be creative? And how can I facilitate other women’s creativity? Enter the Gifted For Leadership newsletter, with this month’s downloadable resource, “Creativity & Leadership.”

I leave you with a letter from a Gifted For Leadership editor:

As leaders in the church we underestimate the crucial role creativity plays in communicating God's truth. And because I often feel like the gift of creativity is confined only to the artist types among us, I fail to develop this aspect of my life.

A friend of mine once said, "There's no such thing as a 'creative' type. We are all made in God's image, the ultimate Creator. We are all creatives." If you need some help believing that, check out this week's download, Creativity and Leadership. In it, you'll find inspiration to breathe life and freshness into your ministry as well as practical tools to make it happen.

…

Also new on GiftedForLeadership.com:

• Creativity is often born out of curiosity. Read about "The Gift of Curiosity."
• Top 5 Reasons Churches End Up In Court—quick video every church leader needs to see
• "God and the News"—Kyria editor Ginger Kolbaba on how to use the Good news to combat all the bad news.
• One year Bible study track for seniors—New resources for leading older adults

Here's to imagination,
Nicole Unice
Contributing Editor, Gifted for Leadership

by the way: I got married

Colleen Taylor & Kevin McCubbin

December 30, 2010

First photo album: AH Photography.

And I’ve been blogging over here.

guiding a girl

I sat beside a young girl on Sunday morning. Her dad was teaching Sunday School and wanted her to sit in the main service, so we sat together taking notes. Her amazement at my copious writing led to a beautiful conversation, which I wrote about here.

The conversation filled me with wonder. I loved telling her dad about it later, feeling as if I was a real partner in the work of raising this child. The night before, the girl and I had been doing crafts. Crafts can be delightful bonding times, but ultimately the bonding reinforces trust that leads to conversations that really matter.

Sometimes those conversations need to happen with a woman. There is nothing like guidance and love from a devoted, attentive dad. Females need healthy input from stable men. But girls and young women also need the companionship and instruction from older women. And I'm to grateful I got to be there for one of those conversations on this week.

Sabbaths

In June I emerged from a long, dark, difficult winter. Creativity had been present, yet somewhat forced. I was waiting, hoping, grieving, and underemployed. But in June, suddenly hope became sight as I suddenly found good work that covers the bottom line and frees me in so many ways.

Steady, gainful work gives new definition to my schedule and new meaning to rest. Sundays have been particularly enjoyable as I (usually) leave the computer off and spend the day with my boyfriend, first at church then with anyone else who crosses our path. Our Sundays are like Wendell Berry's Sabbaths, which poem I discovered on my friend Chelle's teaching blog.

Sabbaths (IV)

The woods and pastures are joyous
in their abundance now
in a season of warmth and much rain.
We walk amidst foliage, amidst
song. The sheep and cattle graze
like souls in bliss (except for flies)
and lie down satisfied. Who now
can believe in winter? In winter
who could have hoped for this?

by Wendell Berry from Given (2005)

Southern Alberta's woods and pastures would be even more "joyous in their abundance" if it would stop raining long enough for the crops to ripen and the farmers to harvest them! Please God, stop the rain.

Martha Mondays: Up or Down?

Do you agree with Martha's conclusions?

Post a comment to win a copy of Notes from Over the Hill.

Draw date and winner announced next Monday.

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A source of family discord that I suspect has been around ever since the invention of indoor plumbing has come to the fore again, this time in the form of email jokes. I refer to that bone of contention, the toilet seat. Should it be up or down? Some men see no reason why it should not be left permanently up, while most women feel this is the ultimate in grossness. Both sexes seem to regard the issue as an attempt to dominate. He: “What difference does it make whether it’s up or down?” She: “If you loved me you’d put it down.” While the connection between a toilet seat and marital devotion may not be clear to a man, to a woman it is entirely logical to rate any and all behaviour in terms of how much she is loved or not loved.

Of course toilet seats should be down. I do not express this opinion out of loyalty to other women or to put down men, but rather because it is the only position that makes sense. We have come a long way since the only attempt at decor in the biffy was the crescent moon on the door. Nowadays we go to considerable expense to have everything coordinated in the modern bathroom. The soap dish, toothbrush holder, and drinking receptacle must match. The toilet paper that replaces the Eaton’s catalogue of yore must unroll from a holder that blends with the register in the floor, and the clothes hamper must not clash with the medicine cabinet. Above all, great care is given to choosing colour-coordinated shower curtains, towels, face cloths, bathmat, tank cover, and toilet lid cover.

Why go to all this trouble and then hide the elegant lid cover? It is impossible to appreciate the beauty of a colour-coordinated lid cover when the lid is up, and since the lid by its very nature is on top of the seat, there is no way it can be down if the seat is up. The whole matter thus becomes academic. This logical reasoning is an attempt on my part to end the controversy once and for all. Whether it is successful remains to be seen.

~ Notes from Over the Hill, pages 18-19

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Do you agree with Martha's conclusions?

Post a comment to win a copy of Notes from Over the Hill.

Draw date and winner announced next Monday.

______________________________________________

Martha Mondays are a weekly feature at the Siretona blog. Siretona Creative is a publishing and production company that empowers women in the arts to build community among generations and nations. Martha’s book was one of our first major projects: a collection of Martha’s articles that “offer a dose of humour and insights to ease doubts as the golden years approach” (Dr. Lynda Haverstock). Sounds pretty intergenerational to us. So we crafted it carefully, including a specially commissioned and researched typeface that would both beautiful and easy to read.

For more information about Martha’s book, visit www.marthamorgan.ca.

Order with Credit Card or PayPal

Notes from Over the Hill $16.99 Notes from Over the Hill - with shipping $21.99

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Martha Mondays: Elevators

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about elevators, but the last time I rode in one it suddenly occurred to me that nobody under the age of 50 would be likely to remember when they were not automatic but were run by real, live people. My daughter thinks she probably saw one of the last of those, with a metal grillwork door and a white-gloved operator at the controls, at the Banff Springs Hotel when she worked summers in Banff in the late 1960s.

Those doors were scary. As you stood waiting for the elevator to come, you could see through them to the empty shaft with cables dangling into the void below, and you hoped they would support the elevator while you were on it. An arrow on an overhead dial indicated its slow ascent as it rose with grunts and groans and metallic clangs of gates opening and closing at every floor. You could peer down and see the roof rising up, but arrival on your floor did not necessarily mean you could step aboard. First, the elevator had to be manoeuvred into position so that it would be level with the floor, a procedure that often required several jerky attempts, and if these were not quite successful the operator would caution: “Watch your step, please.”

In hotels and office buildings the operator was usually an old man, and in department stores a young woman who would sing out: “Second floor: housewares, bedding, towels, curtains, and yardgoods,” while manipulating levers sticking up here and there and turning a kind of wheel with a knob on it that was attached to the wall. It all looked terribly complicated to the unenlightened. I thought they must have to take an intensive training course–at least I hoped they did.

Remember the piped-in music when automatic elevators first came into use? Perhaps it was felt that we would be lonely in there without an operator. My daughter claimed she could tell elevator music from dentist office music, and elevator music was worse. Be that as it may, I’m glad I can now ride up and down in silence. Probably nobody under age 20 remembers that music either.

~ Notes from Over the Hill, pages 16-17

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Martha Mondays are feature at the Siretona blog. Siretona Creative is a publishing and production company that empowers women in the arts to build community among generations and nations. Martha’s book was one of our first major projects: a collection of Martha’s articles that “offer a dose of humour and insights to ease doubts as the golden years approach” (Dr. Lynda Haverstock). Sounds pretty intergenerational to us. So we crafted it carefully, including a specially commissioned and researched typeface that would both beautiful and easy to read.

For more information about Martha’s book, visit www.marthamorgan.ca.

Order with Credit Card or PayPal

Notes from Over the Hill $16.99 Notes from Over the Hill - with shipping $21.99

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Martha Mondays: Life Before Medicare

Do you remember life before Medicare? We didn’t call a doctor until we’d exhausted our own home remedies. There were exceptions, of course. We couldn’t cope with broken bones or kidney stones, but for many ailments which now send us to a clinic for antibiotics we relied on mustard plasters, hot compresses and various other odoriferous and unpleasant concoctions.

We practised preventive medicine. Cod liver oil and Scott’s Emulsion were our defence against colds and flu. Both are still available today, but now they’re in capsule form or orange flavoured. No such amenities for us. We firmly believed that the worse medicine tasted, the better it was for us. A notable exception was a kid I used to babysit. His mother brainwashed him to think cod liver oil tasted good by calling it candy.

Sometimes we miraculously recovered without knowing why. This happened to me when I was playing in the woods and accidentally ran through a spider web spun between two trees. The spider resented the intrusion and bit me on the arm. By the time I got home my arm was swollen to twice its size all the way up to my shoulder and my mother decided I must see the doctor in case it was a black widow spider. She did not have any home remedies for bites from poisonous snakes or insects. But I was dirty from running around in the woods, and it was unthinkable to present oneself at the doctor’s office in less than pristine condition. First I must have a bath and put on clean underwear. I did not think the doctor would ask me to take off my clothes in order the look at my arm, but there was no point in arguing. All mothers had this thing about clean underwear. By the time I finished scrubbing my knees and soaking in the hot tub my arm was back to normal. Even without knowing it, it seemed, mothers were always right.

~ Notes from Over the Hill, pages 14-15

______________________________________________

Martha Mondays are a weekly feature at the Siretona blog. Siretona Creative is a publishing and production company that empowers women in the arts to build community among generations and nations. Martha’s book was one of our first major projects: a collection of Martha’s articles that “offer a dose of humour and insights to ease doubts as the golden years approach” (Dr. Lynda Haverstock). Sounds pretty intergenerational to us. So we crafted it carefully, including a specially commissioned and researched typeface that would both beautiful and easy to read.

For more information about Martha’s book, visit www.marthamorgan.ca.

Order with Credit Card or PayPal

Notes from Over the Hill $16.99 Notes from Over the Hill - with shipping $21.99

______________________________________________

Bigger Story

Do you ever buy something then leave it in the package for who-knows-how-long? I did that with Christine Dente’s CD Becoming. Bought it in a bargain bin at Scott’s Parable in Saskatoon, but didn’t open it until this week. Providential timing, perhaps, because the second song speaks directly to things Kathleen and I are wrestling with as we edit Samantha’s First Story for release in the near future. I’ll be adding this song to my repertoire.

Bigger Story

by Christine Dente, Charlie Peacock, & Scott Dente

In a little town, in a little world
I wrote the memories of a little girl
Little did I know, as the story was unfolding
It would take me down the narrow way
Throw the gate wide open

All my life, I was waiting for an invitation
To be a part of the conversation
Living in a bigger story
All this time was a history-in-the-making
I was headed for a destination
To take my place in the bigger story

So I listen in and I hear the song
From another country and I sing along
And I play my part as the story goes
And the difference that it will make
Is a tale yet to be told

All my life is an answer to the invitation
To be a part of the conversation
Living in a bigger story
All this time is history-in-the-making
Always headed for a destination
To take my place in the bigger story
I'm taking my place in the bigger story

All my life, all my life is an answer to the invitation
Living in a bigger story
All this time, all this time I was headed for a destination
Taking my place in the bigger story
All my life living in the bigger story
All this time, bigger story
All my life living in the bigger story

Christine’s latest project (with producer husband Scott Dente) is Voyage.

What have you left unwrapped, only to discover it gladly later?

Martha Monday: Next Time I’d be Tougher

Have you ever been asked what you would do differently if you could live your life over again? It’s something we like to ponder, even if only to reassure ourselves that we made the right choices. People generally feel that they would live their life the same way.

There are probably exceptions. With the benefit of hindsight, quite a few prison inmates might do things differently: either stick to the straight and narrow or figure out a way to avoid being caught. As for the rest of us, there may be regrets for opportunities missed, but for the most part I think it is only minor things we would change.

I would certainly want to marry the same man. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have the same children, and that wouldn’t do at all. I’ve become quite fond of them. I would be firmer though. I would have made them pick up their toys when they were little so I wouldn’t have to use a rake to get all the debris out from under their beds when they were teenagers. I shouldn’t have been doing that anyway. They should have done their own raking.

Above all, I would never be a martyr. It’s easy for mothers to fall into the martyr trap, to suffer in silence, thinking: “If they really cared about me they would be more considerate.” I would not wash dishes when it was someone else’s turn to wash, while seething with resentment inside. I would simply let them pile up. When there were no clean dishes left, they’d get the message.

Another stupid thing I used to do was fill the freezer if I had to be away for a few days. All the casseroles and other hearty meals I’d lovingly prepared for my teenaged sons were still there when I returned. They hadn’t even opened the freezer; they just sent out for pizzas or picked up fried chicken.

I’d be less obliging, too, when asked to serve on yet another executive or committee. It’s always the same people who are willing to donate their time. Enough is enough–let someone else take a turn. Yes, I’d be a lot tougher if I could live my life over again.

~ Notes from Over the Hill, pages 12-13

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Martha Mondays are a weekly feature at the Siretona blog. Siretona Creative is a publishing and production company that empowers women in the arts to build community among generations and nations. Martha’s book was one of our first major projects: a collection of Martha’s articles that “offer a dose of humour and insights to ease doubts as the golden years approach” (Dr. Lynda Haverstock). Sounds pretty intergenerational to us. So we crafted it carefully, including a specially commissioned and researched typeface that would both beautiful and easy to read.

For more information about Martha’s book, visit www.marthamorgan.ca.

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driving home

I had not noticed how far away I had gone until Thursday morning I had a dream about driving in a car with Brad Jersak. I don’t recall saying anything to each other. It was just good to be riding together.

That same morning, I got in my car for the half hour commute to work and the radio was off. The dream reminded me to leave it off.

It was pure exercise that morning: keeping silence as a basic spiritual discipline – the discipline of not reaching for the button, not tuning it to a talk show (as much as I enjoy CBC Radio One), not turning to Shine FM (as spiritual as it might seem to listen to worship music on my drive). No, this morning the dream had told me to drive in silence, so I obeyed. I did the same thing that afternoon and again the next morning and afternoon.

By Friday afternoon, I could hear. My life has been so frenetic: moving twice in one month, training on two new jobs (albeit in the same place), meeting dozens of new people, playing Ultimate Frisbee for the first time in 12 years, wondering about my future, my finances, my place in this city and in the world. All this and more left an exhausting buzz in my ears and my soul.

It was refreshing to see an old friend in my dreams and recognize the call to be still and silent, starting my quiet car, barely warmed by the early sun, still cluttered with shoes, papers, bags, bills, trash – the detritus of storage and moving and banana snacking on the run, accumulated debris of a rushing, uncentered life.

So Thursday morning was a relief. And by Friday afternoon I could hear God’s whisper: “Rest in me. Rest in my love. Welcome home.”

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This piece of writing arose out of a writing workshop by my cousin, Heather Persson, at Arlington Beach Family Camp this week. She asked us to do this writing exercise:

Last time you felt the presence of God, using all your senses, describe where you are and what you absorbed, how did you react to the surroundings, and how did you experience God in that moment; what did you learn or what was he saying to you.