In which sometimes I wonder where they get it

My tinies smile weird.

Can you say that out loud?

But it's true.

They have beautiful smiles. Beautiful teeth. They are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, beautiful babies.

But when you say "SMILE!" with a cheerful tone, this is what you can expect:

I was stumped. And then I remembered....

So THAT's where they get it from.

Besseys are weird people. The Styles' and MacLeod's would never do that.

In which we have a day of firsts

It was a day of firsts....

First day of daycare for Anne.

First day with a babysitter for Joseph.

My first day officially with Mercy.

My first day working from home.

My first day bursting into tears as I got them ready in the morning. Packing their little homemade backpacks (pictures coming....) with lunches and changes of clothing, letters to the care providers carefully sealed in red envelopes, Blankies and soothers tucked in the folds.

My first day crossing over into ugly cry at the daycare when I was getting ready to leave her behind. And she just hollers across the room "Bye, Mum!"

Okay, then.

My first day leaving Joseph behind and crying all the way back. Calling Brian to commiserate.

My first time in a long while getting a Starbucks coffee in the morning without wrestling tinies into the store and back out.

My first day working crazily, until I realise I skipped lunch and am almost late for a meeting.

My first day madly trying to fit it all into just 6 hours. And do the laundry at the same time.

My first day doing the Daycare Pick Up Run, bringing home tired and chatty children. Having to make supper while they yell about their day and one sobs on the kitchen floor, arms outstretched, because he's missed me so much.

My first day to realise that being a working mother is hard work. And now we're out of bread. Seriously. Someone has GOT to do the grocery shopping around here.

My first day to realise that I love my work.

And I love my tinies.

And somehow we're gonna figure it out together.

Right?

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts (92-103)

(92 - 103)

A lazy Saturday spent at Horseshoe Bay.

Watching the trees move, laden with berries still.

Dreaming in an Adirondack public chair.

A little time for some easy garter stitch while the tinies play in the grass.

Scotch-walking across the grass and the newly fallen leaves.

My two boys in their striped polo shirts.

Watching the ferry boats come in.

Unbelievable smell of the ocean but surrounded by mountains,

watching the boats and the people.

A dad and his girl, dreaming at the end of the dock together.

Capturing an early fall day, together,

celebrating 1 year with our wee man.

In which we are celebrating 1 year of Joseph Arthur

Hard to believe it's been a year since this, eh?

In which he is called here too

(Brian and our niece, Addison.)

I don't know if it's a midwestern thing.

It might be the Protestant thing.

It might be the American thing.

It might be the middle-class thing.

It might be the blue-collar roots.

Who knows?

All I know is that this man of mine is a hard worker. He works his 40 hours then puts in overtime when we need some extra cash. He volunteers at the Mercy House once a week, spending another four hours tearing out drywall at the end of his 9 hour day. He comes home, sweating and stinky, smelling of man.

He is a carpenter now. No more pastoral Mondays on the golf course. No more twenty hours a week to rightly divide the word of truth. No more expense account for Starbucks.

He builds walls. He repairs leaks. He lays hardwood floors. He sands and paints. He patches dry wall. He frames rooms. He is on a first-name basis with almost every hardware store owner in the Lower Mainland. He drives a big white van with a phone number on the side.

It's not what he ever imagined himself doing. Especially not as he studied and trained, interned and worked for years in vocational ministry.

A big part of him struggles even now with this role, with this job, with this world. Shouldn't he be trying harder, striving more to be in ministry again? The kid that was the glory of his youth group, the one who was really going to "make a difference for God," isn't even leading a small group these days.

But when he feels that, he returns to this: he is just as called here too.

He is still Brian, he is still a pastor in his heart of hearts. But now he works with people all day that would never hear the best sermon he ever preached.

They hear the sermon of his life now. They comment on his integrity, his devotion to his family, his work ethic, his quality of work and - surprise - his way with people, how he can diffuse any tense situation. They open up about their struggles. They ask him to pray with them about their marriages. They tell him about how hard they are working to stay above-the-line, how hard it is not to go back to the easy money of selling drugs. They text him when Calgary makes a trade. They cry when their kids go into the hospital. Their wives tell me that their husbands talk about him all day, telling her that they've never known a guy like him. They ask me if he can still perform weddings because they want to renew their vows and "we don't know any other preachers."

He is about to be certified as what the industry refers to as a Master Restorer. Which seems like a very apt description for the man.

He who works with his hands is a labourer.

He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman.

He who works with his hands, his head and his heart, is an artist.

(St. Francis of Assisi)

In which it is time for a newsy update-y thing

-1-

We have accepted an offer on our condo again. The deal went down on Saturday - a day on which we had four back-to-back showings - and was signed off on Sunday. After more than 30 showings, two offers, one accepted, one recinded and now another offer. I am cautiously optimistic by now.

Subjects come off on Friday which means that is the day that I have scheduled for great rejoicing and celebrating.

We have very tight dates for this move now. Just four weeks away.

-2-

So we are now on the house hunt. There aren't quite words for how excited I am to be giving my children a home with a yard. We live in a 2 bedroom, just-less-than-800-sq.-foot condo in the city.

Because Joseph is such a light sleeper and wakes up anywhere from 1-4 times a night still, we have Anne sleeping ON OUR FLOOR in her little toddler bed mattress. She's perfectly happy but I can't wait to have that poor girl sleeping in a bed for once.

-3-

I am a Homebody with a capital H. It's hard to be a Homebody when your home is the size of most people's living rooms. The tinies get what I call "wall-crawly"....meaning that they are crawling the walls with the craziness of hanging out for 8 hours in a space that more closely resembles a bowling lane.

They do okay most of the time but we do have to get out every day obviously. And that means packing up and hiking to a park. What I wouldn't give to just open the back door and say "OUT!" while Anne streaks by me and Joseph races to catch up.

-4-

We will be going house hunting on Sunday. I have a few favourites already but am trying to pace myself.

Translation: I stay up all night, arranging my furniture in these homes.

-5-

In other news, Joseph's first birthday is on Friday! This time last year, I was in the grips of the World's Worst Phenomenon - FALSE LABOUR. Hard to believe it's been a year already...

We are going to be celebrating his birthday next weekend as this weekend is very busy for us. Besides house hunting, we are all taking part in the Walk for Mercy benefitting Mercy Ministries.

-6-

Speaking of which, my new job starts on Monday! I am feeling so overwhelmed by everything I want/need to do. I think my biggest challenge with this new job is going to be keeping myself to the 10 hours a week.

-7-

I have found a daycare situation for Anne and Joseph for the next month. I'll have to find someone new in Abbotsford soon. But for now, Anne goes to a "real" daycare which has her very, very, VERY excited. Joseph will be going to a home care situation. A young woman here in the city will have him on Mondays. I'm sad that they'll be separated but I couldn't seem to find something that would work for them both. And once Anne saw this daycare with the kids and teachers and toys...well, that was it. she wanted to be there.

I'm rather emotional about leaving Joseph, even if it is just for one day a week. He's never spent the whole day with anyone but me. Not even my family. I'm sure he'll be fine but he's just such a wee boy still. Not walking, nursing during the day still. He's a Mama's Boy, for certain. And this is how Evil Mothers-In-Law are born.

(Me and Joseph, fresh out of the bathtub right before bedtime.)

We've had a lot of fun getting Anne "ready" though. She's so excited about her day at the daycare and keeps asking if she can "stay all day long." She needs indoor shoes, a lunch box and a backpack.

I am sewing her backpack myself so we'll see how that turns out. I'm not the best seamstress but I know the basics and am excited to try.

-8-

I have a long list of things I want to learn. I've tackled crocheting and knitting (which is now a deep and abiding love affair). Next up, sewing. After that, quilting and rug braiding.

Seriously.

I have a deep affection for those old fashioned round braided rugs and would LOVE to know how to do that.

-9-

In the news of the Miracle Sort (meaning 1 Part Hard Work, 1 Part Discipline and 1 Part Actual Miracle of the God Sort), we have managed to become debt free!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, except for our mortage. Meh. But we won't count that, will we? Not today anyway.

We have always been good money managers. Brian and I were both raised by parents that taught us the value of a dollar and hard work. So we haven't carried debt much. Our mortgage was about it. But when we started to put Brian through seminary, he wasn't working. Then we had Anne and I was on mat leave so our income was drastically slashed. So on and so forth. It seemed like if someone could ask us for money, they would. Even the Canadian and USA governments tracked us down for huge amounts of money. (Sidenote: What the crap is with the American tax agency taking our money STILL? We haven't lived there for 4 years!) We racked up almost $23K on a line of credit. It hung over my head and kept me up at night.

I HATE DEBT. Always have, always will.

So this year, while I've been on mat leave, we embraced a very simple lifestyle and basically went nuts on trying to pay it off. Every bit of cash we got went to pay it down. We lived on a very tight budget. Brian worked a lot of overtime. It was NOT fun.

And after one last miracle that had nothing to do with us and everything to do with the faithfulness of God, we paid off the last $5K this week.

We're free and clear again.

Feels mighty good.

Which means that I can maybe add a bit of room in the budget again for an iced coffee now and again. Imagine that!

-10-

Finally, we just got Season 5 of Grey's Anatomy from the library. We are a full year or two behind on Grey's since we don't have a TV. We wait for the season to come out, then we borrow it from the library. Then we studiously avoid all mentions of Grey's in conversation or news because we do not wish to ingest spoilers. So don't talk to me about Grey's.

I will say we just finished the episode with that Army doctor, Owen Hunt, arriving back on the scene. And right now? I love him.

And George? Is an idiot.

In which it always matters

I came across an old quote I loved from "Anne of Avonlea" the other day that surmised my life lately:

"We make our own lives wherever they are.

They are broad or narrow,

according to what we put into them,

not what we get out.

Life is rich and full here...everywhere...

if we can only learn how to open our whole hearts

to its richness and fullness."

Sometimes I can get so caught up in the heroics, wanting my life to "matter".

Really, it always matters.

In which it is Turn Off Week

In honour of Turn Off Week, here is:

In which we have abandoned our TV.

In which we do a status check on our TVless situation.

But let the record show, I am very thankful that HGTV.ca has started to post full episodes of Relocation, Relocation online. Because Brian and I just can't live out Kirstie and Phil touring the English countryside, spending exorbitant amounts of other people's money.

I'm not made of wood, people.

In which he is such a little boy sometimes

What is it with little boys and being where they are not supposed to be?

Places where they just don't even fit? Places with computer cords?

Yep. He loves squeeeeeeeeeeeze into this small space.

Whenever I can't find him, he's either hanging off the side of the bathtub

or finagling himself into this small space.

But the best part?

Seems to be getting caught

doing something he knows

he's not allowed to do.

In which I am ditching the disposables

There is a challenge going on in the blogosphere right now about Ditching our Disposables. I'm in!

We've been on a years-long journey about our economic and environmental impact. We've slowly weaned ourselves away from certain behaviours, occasionally flirted with others and reckoned that sometimes, you just need a paper towels so would someone please get off my back about it.

Anyway, I'm in....I think.

You can make the switch from:

• Paper napkins to cloth napkins
• Paper towels to cloth towels or something like Skoy cloths
• Tissues to handkerchiefs
• Paper, plastic or Styrofoam plates to your kitchen plates
• Disposable utensils to regular silverware
• If you order food “to go” or have food to take home from a restaurant, bring your own container rather than accepting Styrofoam or plastic
• Inexpensive plastic “Take & Toss” sippy cups to Thermos or Camelbakbottles or the Klean Kanteen
• Disposable water bottles to (again) reusable bottles like Thermos,Klean Kanteen or Camelbak
• Plastic sandwich bags or paper lunch bags to reusable containers/bags
• Plastic straws to glass or stainless steel straws
• Swiffers (or similar products) to a broom and dustpan or mop (or use reusable cloths like cloth diapers/terry inserts in your Swiffer)
• Disposable dust rags to cloth rags
• Disposable diapers to cloth diapers
• Disposable wipes to cloth wipes (inexpensive plain washcloths work really well)
• Disposable feminine products (tampons, pads) to reusables likeDivaCup, MoonCup, Glad Rags, Luna Pads, Pretty Pads, or New Moon Pads, among others. You can even make your own pads.
• Grocery store bags to reusable bags
• Disposable wrapping paper or gift bags to reusable cloth gift bags
• Single-use batteries to rechargeable batteries

Or, for the really crazy dedicated:

• Toilet paper to cloth wipes/washcloths (for #1 or #2 too if you are really, really adventurous)

Suffice to say, I'm not the crazy-dedicated.

I've made a few of the switches above like grocery store bags to reusable bags. But I"m going to tackle my paper towel consumption. I have tried to avoid them but since our house went up for sale, my consumption has gone through the roof.

I also love the ideas about gifts - moving from paper to reusable cloth bags or wrappings. Lovely, right?

If you'd like to join in, visit Crunchy Domestic Goddess.

I might have to visit the Salvation Army tomorrow to find some hankies to launder.

In which these are 7 Quick Takes

The 7 items of the week that occured to me but didn't warrant their own blog post.

-1-

I installed a new comment system here on the old blogaroo. I was getting tired of not being able to respond to some of the great comments and this seemed like the best way to fix that. I don't like feeling like you're just commenting to some big abyss.

So you can now leave comments through your Facebook profile, your Twitter profile, an Open ID or even just anonymously still. And we can all respond to each other. I'm hoping that this will help me out a bit and make things a bit easier for you as well.

Now you don't have to remember another password just to offer your thoughts.

-2-

Along those lines, thank you so much for all of your kind words about this post. To be honest, I wrote it and left it in draft form for two days. Then I posted it and went out for three hours. For those three hours, I was wishing for my computer or a connection so that I could go back AND DELETE IT BEFORE ANY OF YOU SAW IT. It just felt a bit too honest and vulnerable. Now I'm glad it's out there because it's nice to know you're not alone. Thanks for your wisdom and encouragement.

-3-

In housing news, we are still on the market.

We have showings almost every single day which means I am having to keep this house at an abnormally high level of cleanliness and de-clutterisation (yes, I made up that word).

And I. Am. So. Done.

Where is my buyer in this "hot real estate market rebound?" *sob*

-4-

I just cast on my first scarf for the fall. I found a delicious shade of red from Cascade 220 and it's crying out for a scarf. Isn't this a fun pattern?

-5-

I am reading Don Miller's new book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. It's his follow up to Blue Like Jazz, which as you know, is one of my top ten favourite books. He's written other books but this one is probably his best since that one. It's deep, witty and brilliant. It's got me thinking, that's for sure.

I want to write out reams of quotes but everything needs the context of what came before.

-6-

Whenever Anne doesn't get her way, she says, rather forlornly, "Oh, I'm sad, Mum. Very sad."

But we have decided to put her in daycare one day a week so that I can work. She is so excited she can hardly stand it. We went to visit the daycare and she was dazzled by the other kids (of course...I'm already praying for her small heart), the play kitchen, the little "Annie-sized chairs" and what not. The only tears were when it was time for us to go. "I"m sad, Mum. I want to stay all day, Mum. I'm sad, Mum."

So she'll be fine.

-7-

Joseph is almost a year old. I am in disbelief. He's Mr. Personality, all right. He makes eye contact, gives a big grin and then ducks his chin like he's suddenly shy, before looking up at you again with a huge smile. People are so drawn to him, wherever we go. He's like a little magnet for love.

I have found a baby-sitter for him on Mondays when I work. It's a home situation so that helps me out a bit. But still. I'm not looking forward to the first drop off days.

In which I am still learning a new song

With a new job ahead, I went to my closet to find my work clothes. It's been about two years since I had to wear a pair of dress pants. I have had a year of maternity leave (which means blessed yoga pants and flowy skirts) and before that, a year of pregnancy clothes (oh, wasn't that grand). So I dug out my clothes and you know what?

They didn't fit.

I tried on a pair of pants. Then a blouse. Then another pair of pants. Then another bra.

Nothing fit quite right. Even though the numbers on my scale are pretty close to the old number, my body is obviously not the same. Buttons were straining, zippers weren't closing,

And it was an awful feeling.

Then I tried on my shoes. And I'll be damned if even my shoes didn't fit. Evidently, thanks to the latest pregnancy, I've gone from a 7 1/2 to an 8. Not a pair of shoes in my closet other than my Converse runners fit.

I sat on the floor and cried.

You see, it's always been a sore spot for me. I was a skinny leggy kid that turned into a curvy girl overnight. A curvy girl with a willowy, beautiful mother and a thin, blonde sister. I always felt like I was galumphing along behind the family. Even at my thinnest, I felt like The Big Girl in The Family.

I battled for years with evil songs set on repeat that sang into my ears "You're fat and ugly...if only you were skinnier....if only you were prettier....if only you weren't so fat...you're disgusting...."

When I gave birth to our daughter, my husband kindly asked me to not say those things in front of her. He didn't want her to grow up hearing her mother say these things about herself, teaching her to be so critical of her own self. He didn't want her hearing words like "I need to go on a diet" and "I'd be pretty if only I'd lose the weight" or "I'm so fat" or "I'm so ugly." Which meant that even if I thought it, even if I needed to articulate it later to him or to a friend, could I please just not say it in front of her?

For three years now, I have watched my tongue. I have - even at the heights of pregnancy and high blood pressure induced swelling - managed to keep my songs on a low level of volume. When I sing along, it's quietly and out of earshot.

I do not want her to ever feel that her body, her self, is anything less than just as God intended. She'll have her own battles to wage. And I don't want to send her into battle, already distracted by her mother's songs in her own ears. Now that I help out at Mercy, I am even more aware of this, as I walk among those that are overpowered by the refrain of lies.

But I cried on my floor again, playlist on full repeat and at a frighteningly loud level of volume. I felt so disgusting. Even hating the fact that I was hating it. After all, wasn't I past this? Am I not a child of the King? Am I not enough of a feminist to not care that my thighs touch at the top? At the end of my life, will I really care that I was 20 lbs overweight? Is that the measure of a life? Of course not. I knew better. But I didn't. But I do. But I don't.

Brian, Anne and Joseph came in and sat on the bed. So I pulled it together, wiped my tears and, with the air of one on a supremely distasteful task, finished dressing. I settled for a pair of jeans that gave me the smallest muffin-top then stood there, loathing myself.

I had never felt more disgusting, more frustrated, more old and fat and ugly than at that moment.

"You look so beautiful, Mummy."

There's her voice from the bed. Her eyes are on me. She's spoken up with her hands clasped in front of her, adoring.

"You are so beautiful," she repeats.

Now? Right now? At this moment?

She thinks I'm beautiful. She sees me.

"We are pwetty wadies (her word for "pretty ladies")," she says proudly. "We are wuv-ly (lovely)."

Brian's eyes were fastened on me as well. He looked at me with a bushy eyebrow raised.

"That's what I keep telling you both," he said.

He reached out and touched my waist, hand resting on my silvery stretch marks.

"Beautiful, Sarah. Beautiful."

In which Addison is dedicated - and so are we

We celebrated my niece, Addison Dawn's dedication at church this past weekend.

She wore the same christening gown that my sister and I wore for our christenings.

See? Here I am in it!

(I'm the baby being held by my Granny. That's my Grandpa holding my cousin, Shauna. And that's Dori-Anne, my other cousin.)

And here's Addison.

Such a strong knitted blanket of love and prayer around this wee life. She is part of our third generation of Christ-followers. We're creating our very own legacy of faith.

And sometimes, it gives me chills. We were gathered there at church together with Amanda and Adam's community, to pray over her life. To commit ourselves to praying for her and her parents, to pray for her parents to raise her up to know Jesus and be part of this God-life.

Of course, Addison got her own Life Verse as well.

³ Trust in the LORD and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.

⁴ Delight yourself in the LORD
and he will give you the desires of your heart.

⁵ Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him and he will do this:

⁶ He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn,
the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.

⁷ Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him

Psalm 37:3-7

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts

(84 - 91)

A 10-year dream coming true....

...in the form of a job offer from Mercy Ministries.

10 hours a week to work on transformation.

My job description is to help restore hope.

But I masquerade as the Director of Marketing and Development.

Being pretty sure that this will transform me.

Can you ever be the same when you spend your days with those

fighting for life?

What an honour.

I'm working my way to 1,000 Gifts.

In which I review "A People's History of Christianity"

It took me a while to get to this book. It seemed that whenever I had a moment, I would be distracted by another book. I think I was gearing myself up for a tough slog of a read.

After all, unlike most people reviewing this book, I am not a pastor nor a theologian nor do I play one on TV (or Internets). I am one of those "peoples" that Diana Butler Bass' book attempts to record, far from the power play of Christendom. I just work part time for a non-profit helping women in crisis. I raise my tinies, trying to change the world one life at a time. Sure, my husband is a former pastor and may be one again. Sure, we love to wrangle theology and politics like other couples like to watch So You Think You Can Dance, Canada? But really, I'm just one of those regular folks without the glossy seminary degree or the famous friends or a passing acquaintance with Kierkegaard or the Pope myself. But I follow Jesus because, you see, he changed my life.

But now that I've read it? Oh, my. It is for us.

She's telling our stories. She's not telling the stories about institutional control or orthodoxy. She's telling the narratives of our lives throughout history. Christianity is, after all, more than doctrinal wrangles, creeds and violence. It's also passionate and compassionate, beautiful and inclusive.

History is to a country (or spiritual community or denomination) what memory is to an individual. And loss of memory is a tragedy and ultimately, fatal. Diana Butler Bass, in her new book, A People’s History of Christianity, seeks to capture the history, the memory of Christianity. She talks with host Spencer Burke about the history of Christianity-using a different framework than most contemporary historians. Their framework, which may be true but perhaps with some gaps that need to be filled in, tells the history via the “big Cs”-Christ, Constantine, Christendom, Crusades, Calvin, and Christian America.

Butler Bass believes we’ve lost some of our memory about Christianity’s history-importantly, some of the positive history. So she tells the story of Christianity from the framework of the great commandment-love God and love your neighbor. Her history includes some of the well-known and influential characters you’d expect, but also some who are completely off the radar, like Sam Green, a pastor in Maryland in the 1850’s whose quest for freedom is inspired by his understanding of the freedom of the gospels.

Butler Bass says history is telling the story of the past and including both the good and the bad. Nostalgia is remembering only the good parts and jettisoning the bad. But the flip side can occur too-letting the negative history overpower the positives, and Butler Bass believes the history of Christianity has focused too much on the bad and lost the memory and the power of the good. This what she hopes to bring with her book.

Without memory-without history-we stop knowing who we are. We disconnect from ourselves and our future. History is about time: what happened, what is happening and what will happen in the future. These are beautifully woven together in a mystery that we as humans long to participate in. We live in a time in history that is not boring, says Diana, and she is hopeful for the future. We can fill in the goods parts of our history, and see the fullness of the good and the bad together. We can see the work that still needs to be done in our time and have a place of wisdom from which to do our work.

Here is a great interview with her:

I think it's accessible, interesting and, frankly, a good read. I'd love to have read through it with a book group or something to discuss.

If you'd like to pick one up, you can find it online or at your local bookstore.

In which someone just wanted to say hello after his nap

In which I saw a love story

A few friends and I were chatting a month or two ago. One dear friend of mine asked us "What is your favourite story about Jesus?" Four years ago, she had "decided that [she] wanted to get to know the way Jesus did life. seeing as how he IS the theology of the Father revealed to us, I figured it was best to see and learn his Way of doing life." So she spent four years just reading the Gospels. She explained it using this beautiful scripture...

Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper behavior from their parents. Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn't love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that. (Ephesians 5:1-2)

Everyone had the most wonderful responses - I wish I could share them with you. It made me weepy. I read through their answers and cried again.

Then I picked up my Bible.

The questions drove me back to The Gospels. I read through them again. And then again. I poured over the words. I drank in His presence, His wisdom, His questions and stories for two months.

But as I was reading, I kept coming back to this one, in the Gospel of Luke chapter 7, verses 36 through 50.

It's a familiar story to some, the story of the woman with the alabaster jar, pouring out her treasure on the feet of Jesus, surrounded by the men that judged her.

One of the Pharisees asked him over for a meal. He went to the Pharisee's house and sat down at the dinner table. Just then a woman of the village, the town harlot, having learned that Jesus was a guest in the home of the Pharisee, came with a bottle of very expensive perfume and stood at his feet, weeping, raining tears on his feet. Letting down her hair, she dried his feet, kissed them, and anointed them with the perfume. When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man was the prophet I thought he was, he would have known what kind of woman this is who is falling all over him."

Jesus said to him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."

"Oh? Tell me."

"Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?"

Simon answered, "I suppose the one who was forgiven the most."

"That's right," said Jesus. Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, "Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal."

Then he spoke to her: "I forgive your sins."

That set the dinner guests talking behind his back: "Who does he think he is, forgiving sins!"

He ignored them and said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace."

I see it - can't you see it? I see her before him. I see his kindness and gentleness. I see the consternation of the religious leaders and authorities as he breaks their cultural taboos. I see the discomfort of the host, the indignation, the stares, the woman and Yeshua, God made flesh.

It feels like a love story to me. It reads to me, not like any judge weighing scales of debts and guilt but rather with a tenderness and extravagance.

After all, she is a "sinful woman." The one that the neighbours look askance at, use to warn their daughters, treated poorly and brutally by them all. Can you imagine how hard it was for her to come there? How hard it was to knock on the door of the influential well-known religious leader? She must have wanted to be there badly. She must feel like she couldn't go on without expressing herself, without being able to pour our her greatest treasure at the feet of Jesus. And then, to weep at his feet with relief and thankfulness.

Really, the Gospel is for those of us that are broken-hearted, isn't it?

When your heart is aching, there is no way of being able to explain the balm, the peace, the wholeness and the rest to be found at his feet. She loved him with an extravagance that told of her heart after him.

And what's that verse again? We love because he first loved us. What type of extravagant love had she experienced to be able to respond like this?

When he bids her to go in peace, he used the word "Shalom." (it means peace in every aspect of life - like wholeness and prosperity and goodness). And that meant that he was welcoming her back into the community, back into relationship.

It made me realise again - I don't follow a religion. I don't follow a life of "God's principles" or an answer book. I'm not following ten steps to a more prosperous or happier life. I'm not looking for a get-out-of-hell card. I'm not looking for a glorified form of insurance.

I'm following Jesus.

And Jesus?

Oh, He is beautiful.

What about you? What's your favourite story of Jesus?

I love to talk about Him, in case you couldn't tell....