In which I review "Hear No Evil"

Reviewing: Hear No Evil: My Story of Innocence, Music and the Holy Ghost by Matthew Paul Turner

Author and blogger Matthew Paul Turner (henceforth to be referred to as MPT, simply because I find it tiring to type out his full name like he's a child star from Home Improvement requiring all three names) has written a hipster's history of Christian music that is funny, engaging and interesting.

The book is less of a story than a collection of essays, all with the common thread of contemporary Christian music. We learn of his early years spent dreaming of becoming the "Christian Michael Jackson" through to editing "the" CCM magazine of the 90s and beyond.

The nature of the book almost requires that one would have read his previous memoir "Churched" to fully understand the arc of the story. It can stand on its own, but makes more sense if one has read his previous works. Even then, the story skips through a life, sometimes leaving one a bit dizzy or without understanding of how we got there.

MPT is funny and witty even though it sometimes seems like he's reaching hard for the joke. He's a likable "character" - just a bit awkward but endearing. I found I was laughing, not because it was necessarily funny, but because, boy, could I relate to some of his experiences. When his friends loudly have a prayer meeting at the TGIFriday's, I howled.

Oh, brother. Been there.

I particularly got a kick out his experiences with Calvinism. Maybe because I'm rather anti-Reformed (in the nicest possible way, of course) but when he rebels against his Baptist parents by becoming a Calvinist for a while, his insights about both sides of the coin are telling and truthful. It's also telling to see the truth behind much of the CCM scene: from marketable hot young virgins to the treatment of Amy Grant, post-divorce.

On the surface, this book seems light and interesting, a quick read, but it packs many an insight.

Verdict: Recommended for those that grew up in the Christian bubble.

Disclosure: I received a free copy of the book in return for a review.

In which I need your good stories

It's like watching someone tear down my Brian or Real Life Dad or Real Life Mum. I know them, so intimately, that to see them misrepresented, to see terrible things done in their name, would deeply grieve and devastate me. I think that's more where I"m at right...just broken, grieving, wondering what to do with how I feel right now.

After my last post, my parents and I had a very good discussion. They challenged me in many beautiful ways, wept with me and prayed over me. They suggested that I spend a bit of time meditating on the things I love about Christians, the beautiful ways that they have done good, not only to me but to the world. In short, balance this pendulum right out.

I love the Church, I love the people of God.

So I have a favour: Would you please help me? Would you tell me your good stories about Christians and/or churches? Something kind that was done for you, a life that was saved, a third way being demonstrated, relationships that are restored, that sort of thing.

I need to hear them.

I'm asking, as a favour, that you would take the time to write to me or call me or send your friends here to tell me your God-breathed stories of followers of Jesus.

I need to spend the weekend praying. I have a feeling that your tales from the tribes of Love could help soak up the blood from the wounds I am bearing right now.

In which I am contemplating a separation

No, not from Brian. (You can all stop freaking out. You know us better than that.)


I am taking a sustained break, a separation with thoughts for divorce from the current forms of church and "Christianity."


It's not been an easy week for me.


I have alternated between intense prayer, time pouring over Scripture, conversations with my husband, bouts of weeping, anger so white hot my hands tremble, patient resignation and rest.

The truth of the matter is that I no longer wish to identify myself with Christians or the current forms and displays of church (small "c" noted).

Most of you know that I have grappled with church and Christianity for years now. I have found solace in the emerging church and even in the rediscovery (for me, anyway) of ancient church traditions. I have found progressive and beautiful and thoughtful people among Christians. We love many of you, deeply, and always will. I have tried so hard to hang on, even in the face of great evil and oppression done in the name of Jesus, believing that I could not "throw the baby out with the bathwater."

And yet, I cannot get away from the truth of my own heart. The Christianity I see and the church as I experience it, the witness that I am bearing to the primary practices of the Christian religion as it is currently, turns my stomach and wounds my soul.


(I have just deleted about 3o paragraphs of specific instances, links and stories. I don't want to get into that, I think. Maybe another time.)


I can't bring myself to pretend anymore.


The trail of hurt people, wounded souls and even dead bodies is too great. It weighs on my soul and I feel tremendous grief.

I can no longer reason awayor gloss over the systemic abuses of power, the bitterness, the obnoxiousness, the narrow mindedness, the bigotry and hypocrisy, the power-hungry, consumerist, big business of church that is consuming people and spitting them out.

To me, right now, it feels like the last place that I want to be. I have zero desire to raise my children in church right now, zero desire to have them in Christian schools. I want them raised in a gentler, simpler, more peaceful, unconditional love sort of way that affirms God as love, as Father. I want relationship as something tender and loving not adversarial. I don't wish to subject our family any longer to this craziness masquerading as walking in the Way.

Because this is the key point: I love the Lord with my entire soul. I am undone by his great love towards us. I am following near to Jesus, keenly aware of my own ragamuffin status, leaning so heavily on Him, yearning to follow his steps of wild love and grace. The intimacy with God is most important, the most defining thing about me.


The more I know Him, the more I am grieved. Because if we knew him, how could we think he is in any of this? That is why I am so disgusted to see the perversion of his message.

Do you remember the book "The Lord of the Flies"? It's about a group of boys that are shipwrecked on an island and try to form a society to survive. Eventually it descends into madness and murder as their fears and "humanness" take over. It's a sobering, horrifying book about civilization and the thin line we all walk. And yet, it feels like the closest analogy I have right now for the state of church and Christianity. It feels like the more we get together, the more we exclude, the more we set up lines of worldview and theology, the worse it gets. And by worse, I mean, it feels sociopathic.


As if these acts and behaviours aren't bad enough....condoning and participating in war, treading on the least of these, caring most about appearances, the systemic child abuse of "training up a child", the crippling views on womanhood, the legalistic opinions on marriage, the quickness to judge others, the picking and choosing of pro-life arguments, the flashy buildings and personal jets, profane affair with the things of this world like capitalism and materialism and consumerism, the manipulation of people, let alone crusades, ostracism, elitism and misogyny.... they are, somehow, inexplicably, being DONE IN THE NAME OF THE GOD OF LOVE.

How is this even possible?


Everything that I know about God, everything I know about my Father, can't allow me to do this anymore. I can't stand by anymore and align myself with this madness. I yearn to love people and often, church and "Christians" are the anti-thesis of this. I can no longer carry the baggage of this evil over the centuries.

I am taking a break from describing myself as a Christian.


I cannot darken the door of a church right now.


I am broken in my spirit, grieving.



*What's that line again? I don't what I'm thinking until I write it out? That's just it exactly. I am still figuring this out. And rather than let this sit in draft form, I am going to share it. I am going to press publish, even though it terrifies me. Because right now, it is my truth. Please be gentle and wise.*


EDITED TO ADD: This post continues to be one of the ones that I get the most emails about. So many of us, so broken.  I wanted to add a few comments now that it has been a year or so since I wrote it.  I know I'm not alone in these feelings now but I wanted to also let you know that I'm continuing to work through some of the raw anger and sorrow in it by trying to give equal time in my heart/attention to the good stories. I did a few follow ups to this post that I've linked here in case they might help you too, as I know what a hard and discouraging place it is to be in.


http://www.emergingmummy.com/2011/05/in-which-we-sit-around-fire-to-tell.html
http://www.emergingmummy.com/2010/02/in-which-i-need-your-good-stories.html
http://www.emergingmummy.com/2010/03/in-which-i-am-experiencing-thousand.html

Or just click the label "church" and you can continue the journey with me. I love having you alongside.

In which we are sick but well entertained

I haven't an original thought in my head. Me and the laddie, we're both rather sick with The Vile Head Cold currently making the rounds, you see.

So most of our time is spent snuggled up in our Salvation Army recliner ($35 but the footrest doesn't work). Joseph just rests, planted still for once, his hands tangled in his own golden ringlets or wrapped around my hair. We have stayed in our jammies for almost two days.

But we're not lacking entertainment.

We are watching Anne perform great feats of athleticism while she watches the Olympics. My wee 3 year old is mesmerised by the entire Olympics and imitates every single event.

The best one so far was her rendition of moguls. Sadly, we didn't have the camera handy. Bilodeau and Heil may have inspired a new little Olympian.

But Brian did manage to capture her performing for Ice Dancing. (Just for the record, I think that Virtue & Moir should get married and have lots of babies.)

And for Jillsa and Tez, here you go:

(My favourite part is at the end, when she high fives the TV and then hugs herself.)

(A word of apology: Brian's leg is blocking the camera for the first few seconds. He was trying to hide the camera so she wouldn't notice it. Also, we are the last people in the world with a TV that weighs a metric ton and a real old-fashioned TV Cabinet that is incredibly even larger, I'm sure.)

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts (258 - 290)

Slowly noticing the endless, constant stream of gifts I'm being given, every day epiphanies, writing down all of the ways that I am rich, all the way to 1000.

258. This, this, this beautiful poem from Ann Voskamp, the originator of the One Thousand Gifts Community.

This one that, when read aloud like a prayer and a song and a declaration, made me weep this morning.


Do not let anything keep you
from flinging out into the streets, eyes and mouth full of His wonder,
to pant it in the marketplace
the back alleys, the front fields,
across the crackling wires

that you have seen Him, yes, you have seen,
and with these very eyes,
and you hear it even now,
the rocks crying out

and you cry it out too, stammering it, stumbling it
into every willing ear
that you opened your eyes one day and ran right into Him
and He ravishes and He kisses wounds and He serenades
and Beauty has branded you,
marked you with awe

and awe is why I grab the pen and I make the record,
and Beauty is why I scratch it down late, day after day,
and He makes the pulse race and brushes the tear clear and cups the life tender

and this is why I hurtle over the high fear
and disparaging words can't keep me and splaying shortcomings can't keep me and illness, work, obligations can't keep me,

and He is my blaze and He is my burn and and I cannot be muzzled because what can separate from the telling once the eyes have seen?

Could there be anything greater than this,
the bearing witness
to the sighting?

I give testimony.

And I cannot
not.

259. Early mornings outside, crisp air in my lungs, sun blinding on the water, snowy mountains in the distance. Feeling truly alive in an instant, aware of the gift of being human.

260. Walks with just my boy, seeing him encounter the world, eyes ablaze and mouth wide, charing ahead, happiness with a stick and a rock.

261. Washing windows on a sunny day.

262. Small hands in soapy buckets of water that smell like peppermint.

263. Being a witness to the "firsts" of a life like the first time on a tricycle and learning to turn on a two-wheeler-with-training-wheels bike.

264. Sweeping the patio.

265. Imaginations that make up songs.

266. Setting up a "car wash" for the babies to clean their toys, seeing them studiously vacuum the plastic seat of a baby car. And then do it six more times, start to finish, because work is fun still.

267. The joys of a boy, knee deep in dirt, playing with sticks.

268. Pudgy, dimpled arms clinging to my neck, hands tangled in my hair, the small voice of "Mumma" with a contented sigh.

269. The Ergo baby carrier that I bought second hand. (It is also on Joseph's gratitude list, I imagine.)

270. Encouraging emails and notes from friends and not-yet-friends.

271. Crisp air in our lungs.

272. Seeing the walls go up on the Mercy house.

273. The cadence of poetry, the truth in the marrow of the words.

274. Learning to live in freedom from guilt.

275. Feeling lighter in every way.

276. Shaking off fear, unhooking every tenacle of worry and doubt.

277. Spending time with women - oh, how I love you, girls! - because we can go from tears to laughter in seconds.

278. Sunny days.

279. Sleeping with the window open, burrowing into a warm duvet when the room is cool.

280. Sending Anne to her grandparents house for a sleepover.

281. Wondering who had more fun: Anne or Granny & Papa? They are all glowing with joy after a day of pretend fishing, hockey, "underducks" on the swings, bathtime in the "big tub" and suppers and breakfasts all together.

282. CBC Radio on Sunday mornings.

283. Spending my Sunday morning at the lake with Joseph, just us two and the cathedral of the world for worship.

284. Seeing our family come together over something as simple as making meals.

285. Hearing Annie sing "O Canada", butchering most of the words but pitch perfect, singing loud into the turkey baster.

286. The Olympics in Vancouver, the pulse of the city, this gathering of nations right in our backyard.

287. Jon Montgomery, gold medalist, used car salesman and auctioneer from Russell, Manitoba who seems to be the quintessential Canadian guy. And how he chugged beer from a pitcher in the middle of an interview.

288. Learning about learning.

289. Having so many beautiful mothers around me with different opinions and experiences to add to my life.

290. Life, life, life.

In which we cheated but it wasn't worth it

Week 3

Overall Summary:

This week started off poorly with a not-worth-it cheating episode but it's ending well with my realisation of the importance of food to my children and therefore to our entire family. And there's a boy-friendly veggie recipe as well.

Physically:

We are feeling better in every way, to be honest. Our energy level remains high. My skin is clearing up slowly (I suffer from stress-and-sugar related eczema). Our digestion is improved (ahem). And I'm down another 2 pounds for 7 pounds total. It's not exciting but it's consistent.

The biggest change we've noticed this week is that Anne (our 3 year old) is eating more. Anne is my "picky eater" who has never eaten well. (She is one of those kids that just doesn't care about food and doesn't really have a favourite. I could sit her down in front of chocolate cake and she won't have but a bite or two. She'd rather do anything than eat and has always been that way.) Well, she is clearing her plate almost every night. She's eating more than ever. Even at my parents house (anyone else's kids seemingly save their oddest behaviours for display in front of the grandparents?), she has eaten everything. She is really responding well to simpler food.

The Budget:

No major changes so far. Still spending about the same.

Convenience and Time:

This was the Week That We Cheated. It is hard to hold the line. One day, I caved, ordering in our favourite pizza from a local greasy joint when Brian was working late and I was tired of emptying the dishwasher.

My reward? We all got sick to our stomachs. Brian lay moaning on the couch, "Oh, if only I'd had my apple instead!" (Yes, I threw a pillow at his head.) And I got to be up all night with sick children.

Evidently, the drawback of this is that cheating isn't as much fun anymore because our bodies don't like the grease.

I'm Canadian - cheese and bread (beer and doughnuts also featured) are part of my molecular structure, so this is disheartening to say the least.

Favourite Recipe of the Week

I don't know that this is 100% whole food but I do the best I can. I adapted it from one of my sister's favourite recipes (she's a vegetarian-sometimes-vegan). And it's Brian's favourite vegetarian recipe, so this is for the men in your life, I guess.

Polenta Pinto Bean Casserole

1 precooked polenta (16 oz) (you can make it from scratch if you prefer)

1 1/2 cups of pinto beans, cooked

1 1/2 cups of diced tomatoes and green chiles (or homemade salsa)

1 cup cheddar cheese

1 tbs chili powder

1/2 cup organic whole grain tortilla chips

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. Cut polenta into 1/2" slices and arrange in a casserole pan. (Or if you did it from scratch, just spread it on the bottom of the pan.)
3. In a bowl, combine beans, tomatoes, chiles (or salsa) and chili powder. Add a bit of pepper and sea salt. Spread over the polenta.
4. Top with crushed tortilla chips and cheese.
5. Bake 30 minutes, covered. Uncover and cook another 10 minutes to brown.
6. Serve with a spinach salad or cut raw veggies.

Spiritually

Anne loves to cook with me. Joseph sits at our feet, measuring cups and wooden spoons in hand. She washes veggies, Joseph gnaws on the carrots and they help to set the table. We go to the grocery store together and they help me pick out food, loading up our basket, asking for their favourites (Anne's loving strawberries and pineapple. Joseph's a big fan of bananas).

Together, they are falling in love with cooking and enjoying mealtimes together. It's becoming one of my favourite things to do with them.

Food - the cooking and eating of it - is no longer something to cross off our list; it's something that binds us together.

Favourite Website/Video of the Week

Jamie Oliver did an incredible talk at TED about food in America. Of course, it's Jamie so it's interesting but I found it compelling and worth the 20 minutes to watch. This is what happens when no one knows how to eat and no one knows how to cook and we've lost our connection to food and goodness. It alternately convicted, thrilled and terrified me.

"The power of food has a primal place in our homes." (If you're reading this in your email or blog reader, you will need to click through to view the video.)

This Week's Link Round Up:

• Abbie at Simple Kneads
• Jemelene at Hopeful Outlook: What is Holding You Back?
• If you are writing anything about food that's related, just leave your link below anytime during the week. I'll include you in the next week round up.

In which she knew just what he needed

I find this age of Joseph's (17 months) the most tiring so far. I remember feeling the same way about Anne. Everything was very easy for me when they were babies, the toddler thing was hard and then, now, preschoolers are an unbelievable amount of fun. Don't get me wrong - I love everything about this boy wildly. But this betwixt-and-between, not-quite-baby-not-quite-toddler can be tiring. He's running but still learning not to run AWAY. Too heavy to carry without a carrier but won't hold hands in parking lots, squirming and pulling away. He's so frustrated by his efforts to communicate and our inability to decipher every grunt and holler. He'll laugh so hard, he can't stand up. And he screams just to get a reaction, lighting up when everyone jumps a foot in the air.

And this little boy is into EVERYTHING. I wonder why we have even our little green tub of toys when all he wants to do is stick his fingers in sockets, worm his way into the cleaning supplies (can other babies open baby-proof cabinets?), push over kitchen chairs, pull books off of shelves and generally beat his fists on everything. Yesterday, it culminated in his prying the heater cover vent off of the wall and bending the metal plate beyond all recognition while I was showering. I found him, by the open hole in the wall, gleefully trying to stuff things inside.

After reprimanding him and then moving him, he protested loud and long, wailing in a performance worthy of an Oscar, or at the very least a Genie Award. (He's very good at it. He is part MacLeod, after all.)

I went outside to get the ergo out of the car to put him in. On days like this, the only solution is to wear him all day long.

When I came back, he had quieted down. I went up the stairs to the kitchen and saw him and Anne curled around each other in the middle of the living room. She was rubbing his hair and handing him a framed copy of this picture (which she had snitched off the bookcase):

It's me and Annie, about a year ago, when she was sick. Brian snapped it one night in the gloom of winter.

"See, Joey?" she was saying softly. "When I'm sad, I look at this picture."

He held onto the side and looked up at her, his head cocked at an angle.

"So here you go. You can look at my picture, too. I love you, Joe. You can calm your heart."

He held onto it, leaned his head into her and was quiet at last. I sat and watched them, thankful that they are creating their own little tribe, that the greatest thing we could have given them is each other.

In which I share some of our Olympic experience so far

I've been of two minds regarding the Olympics in Vancouver. Living in a host city has opened my eyes to the abuses of the games. It's costly and a poor use of resources. It takes over everything. Some aspects are corrupt. The money we spent could have been much better spent, no doubt. And I signed a few petitions for "Homes Not Games" placard wearers. And then the tragic death of the Georgian luge competitor saddened all of us so deeply.

But... the dominant part of me is squealing and jumping up and down: I love the Olympics! I love the Olympics! The Olympics are here! I watched the opening ceremony with great joy, initially with my family and then coming home with tired babies to finish watching it with Brian and the great cloud of friends on the Twitter. (Yes, I like to call it The Twitter. It's just too much fun to watch people cringe when you add "The" in front of things. Like "The Google.")

I felt very proud during the Opening Ceremonies because they were a true celebration of being Canadian. Some felt they weren't cool enough but to me, they were us. We're not that cool. We can be a little weird. We love music and poetry and stories. We don't like to overspend usually. We wanted to make sure everyone was included. Some aspects wouldn't make sense unless you knew the stories that all Canadians knew.

The ceremony certainly stood in stark contrast to the synchronized masses during the Beijing games; there was a rawness, a real celebration of humanity. The First Nations acting as host nations, while some can see it as crass, were beautiful to me. We had k.d. lang singing what is, arguably, one of the greatest songs ever written (if you don't have her album "Songs of the 49th Parallel" yet, you, my friend, are MISSING OUT ON THE GREATNESS). There were punk tap dancers, an Atlantic kitchen party and slam poets. There were excerpts of great Canadian literature like "Who Has Seen the Wind?" by W.O. Mitchell. Among our flag bearers were great hockey players, a wiser-now General and the mother of one of our greatest Canadians, Terry Fox. Even though there was a malfunction on the ice arms during the torch lighting, I loved almost the whole thing.

I'm not usually an enormous supporter of rabid nationalistic pride. But I love this. I love having the world here. I love the cacophony of languages, the spirit of joy that is here, the freedom being celebrated, the cultures being experienced, the dreams of athletes coming true.

Anyway, we went downtown yesterday. Anne got sick about 2 hours in to our day so she wound up in the stroller while Joseph rode around in my new-to-me-second-hand-Ergo carrier. We had so much fun even though she didn't feel well and we left early. Not that you can tell by their faces in this next photo. I gave up on trying to get smiles out of them.

We started at Coastal Church and headed down to Coal Harbour to see the flame. Then hiked up Howe to the Art Gallery where the time clock is located. Then we went over to Robson Plaza but headed home shortly afterwards, since Anne wasn't feeling well.

Brian and I used our Christmas, birthday and anniversary present budget to purchase tickets to the Men's Bronze Medal hockey game. We are so excited about going to see the Americans *wink*. We'll be leaving the babies for a whole day together (I don't think we've been alone for that long of a time since Anne was born, now that I think about it). I've got a long list of things to do; way more than we will be able to accomplish in just a day before the lead up to the game. Zip line across Robson Square anyone?

Walking the streets of Vancouver yesterday brought home to me again, how beautiful God's dream is for humanity. There was such enthusiasm, such kindness, such joy in each face. People were patient and kind, they were open, they were chatting with total strangers. There is a different feel in the city right now, with the entire world represented among us.

(P.S. I saw the Russian team! And the Austrians! And the Swiss! And a few Canadian athletes!)

(P.P.S. Did I mention I went to junior high school with Helen Upperton, Team Canada's captain of our women's bobsleigh team? I hadn't? Oh, well. Now you know - I KNOW AN OLYMPIAN!)

Disclosure: Amazon affiliate link used. All photos taken by me or the buddy who was standing closest to us at the time.

In which she is very good at being 3

Anne: Mum, can we make cookies?

Me: Not right now, sweetheart.

Anne: Mum, can we make cookies?

Me: Annie, I said, not right now. Maybe tomorrow.

Anne: Okay. But, Mum, can we make cookies?

Me: Anne. Sweetheart. No. Not right now.

Anne: Mum, how about now? Can we make cookies now?

Me: Annie, I heard you. I hear everything you say. I am always listening. You don't need to repeat yourself dozens of times. You need to listen. I said no.

Anne: *deep sigh* Okay.

(long pause)

Anne: Mum, can we make cookies? Now?

In which I am tired, worn out and burned out on religion for Lent

Lent is nearly upon us. I've written before about my journey to taking part in Lent. It's been a very formative part of my spiritual life, since I came to this tradition as an adult, out of a non-high-church tradition (to say the least...can we say dueling tambourines?).

I love this season because I have found that when I consciously make space for God in my life, it's amazing how He fills it to overflowing.

But this year, I'm not making a Lenten vow. I'm not fasting from the Internet as in years past nor am I fasting any food or behaviours (well, I'm already undergoing a pretty major consumption change through the Whole Foods Challenge).

You know what I'm going to do this Lent?

Relax.

I'm just going to relax. I'm going to wake up every morning and ask God to help me understand how much I am loved.

I'm asking Him, humbly, to help me get just a glimpse again of His love.

And then, that I would love those that he brings across my path well.

That's it. I'm embracing the simple, being changed by the basic, inviting peace and abundance to envelop my life instead of more stuff to do or not do.

So Lent this year for me is still a season of repentance, still a season of preparation for the glory of Easter ahead. But this year, I want to walk this season with Him. And the main thing I'm hearing these days is this:

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion?

Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life.

I'll show you how to take a real rest.

Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it.

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.

Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

(from Matthew 11:28-30, they are the words of Jesus that won't let me go these past few years. I'm starting to realise that might be for a reason.)

This might be related to some of the emerging church conversations lately. I'm just rather weary of it all. So a bit of a break, a bit of time on my quest to to relax into this relationship, to stop trying harder is just what the Great Physician prescribed.

Well, that and one of my cousins threatened my life if I shut down the blog for 40 days ever again. ;-)

In which I am slowing down - and it's rather painful

Week 2

Physically:

The kids are bouncing off the walls. Literally. So much energy in this house, it's a little disgusting.

We are now contemplating giving them McDonald's just to slow them down.

I have lost 3 pounds this week. And that's without exercising - ahem - at all. Total weight lost is 5 pounds.

One day, after supper, I thought I'd cave and offer the tinies an arrowroot cookie (we just moved all of our "non-whole-food" food to a top shelf when we started the challenge). I held out the box to Annie and she wrinkled her nose. "I don't like box cookies," she said. And then she chose an orange.

If only my tastes changed so quickly!

Finally, without going into many other details, let's just say digestion has improved. Dramatically.

The Budget

To be honest, it's about the same right now. We aren't spending as much on processed food but we are going to the grocery store more often because we're actually eating our healthy veggie food instead of leaving it in there to rot.

Also, I caved and bought a few convenience type foods from the natural section like cold cereal (Nature's Path Whole "O"s and Kashi Honey Rice) as well as a granola bar type thing. I checked the ingredients and I knew what all of them were so I figured I was in the clear.

BUT, those convenience things that are organic/natural are expensive! I was going to buy pancake mix (anyone else's babies ADORE pancakes beyond all reason?) but balked at the price. I flipped it over to see the ingredients and sure enough, it was just whole wheat flour, baking powder and salt. I sputtered at the injustice of it, came home and promptly made my own mix. They were the best pancakes we'd ever had (recipe is below).

I think your budget will really suffer if you try to do replacement foods. It's only if you actually change how you eat that your budget will either stay the same or go down. Going meatless 4 nights a week has been a huge help for us.

Here's the other thing that has saved our budget: we don't go out to eat. Seriously. Cutting out the Tim Horton's stop every day or the White Spot kiddie meals has given us back some wiggle room. I hadn't really thought of that but it's helped our budget, not from the grocery line item, but on the eating out side, for sure.

We pretty much eat at home. That's it. And my Vancity account is rather happy about that.

Convenience and Time

This is the one that took a big hit for me in the Enthusiasm Department this week. There were many times when I opened the fridge and felt like "We have nothing to eat in this house!" only to discover that if I just, you know, cooked with what I had, we actually had a lot. It just wasn't readily available with a photo of the food on the box.

You have to actually, um, cook. And sometimes, a girl just doesn't feel like cooking! But I had to do it because the only other option was not eating or breaking our Challenge. So I hung in there. Each time, I was glad that I did it but I have to admit, there were a few nights when I really, really wanted J's Pizza.

I have come to rely very heavily on leftovers for lunches. (Also, I've discovered my tinies hate soup with a passion. Are they even a quarter MacLeod? If so, what is this? How does the soup-loving-gene skip a generation! So the soup days mean that I have to make lunches instead of reheating.)

Am I the only mother that hates making lunch? I mean, it's not enough I have to feed everyone for breakfast, snacks and suppers but now lunch has to be made too? *dramatic sigh*

A few winners I've found for our quick lunches:

• Of course, reheated leftovers.
• Veggies and hummus with applesauce.
  
• Honey and/or peanut butter (natural) on bread.
• Pancakes with honey, instead of syrup.
• Pita bread pizzas (just put some tomato sauce on a pita, put some cheese on it and toast it in the toaster oven).
• Oatmeal with blueberries.
• Any other quick lunch ideas for this poor Mum?
  

Favourite Recipe of the Week

Whole Wheat Banana Blueberry Pancakes

(Adapted from this recipe I found on All Recipes while looking for that pancake mix.)

Ingredients

• 1 1/4 cups whole wheat flour
• 2 teaspoons non aluminum baking powder
• 1 egg
• 1 cup milk, plus more if necessary
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1/2 cup blueberries
• 1 mashed banana
  

Directions

1. Sift together flour and baking powder, set aside. Beat together the egg, milk, salt and honey in a bowl. Stir in flour until just moistened, add blueberries and bananas, and stir.
2. Preheat a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, and put a bit of real butter to oil the pan. Pour approximately 1/4 cup of the batter into the pan for each pancake. Cook until bubbly, about 1 1/2 minutes. Turn, and continue cooking until golden brown.
3. Serve topped with honey. Watch your tinies turn themselves inside out in joy.
   

Spiritually

This was a week when it wasn't fun, to be honest. The big high and excitement has worn off. I want chocolate. I want cheesy-bad-for-you-pizza. I want to eat and eat and eat! It has been hard not to just drive thru for nuggets for the tinies when we're running late.

It's been a retraining of bad habits.

My "coping mechanisms" - those things I did once or twice just to get through - have now become bad habits.

We were so busy the past 6 months with Our Last Move EVER and The Great House Cleaning of This Disgusting House that we grabbed a bite every time we were out, just stuffing food when we were hungry instead of slowing down and enjoying our time together. I developed the habit of eating on the run, just seeing it as one more thing to cross off my very long to-do list. And I also developed the habit of stopping for a coffee every single time we were out. Which is not only good for my health but isn't so hot for the budget either. Even feeding the tinies was something to cross off the list, in rush to get to the next thing.

Having to cook our meals has slowed me down in every way possible. Sometimes that pisses me off. But I recognise that even that is good for me. I'm slowing down, I'm eating better, I'm slowing life down for our babies, we're at the table together, we're eating real food.

I think this is called being fully present in my life.

This Week's Link Round Up:

• Jada at Food. Fun. Family.
• Sara at Domestic Goddessing
• If you are writing anything about food that's related, just leave your link below anytime during the week. I'll include you in the next week round up.

In which the grand gestures of love look a bit different these days

Love looked a bit different then. He wrote me love letters, praising my beauty. We kissed in the backseats of cars. We danced under the stars. We went out for supper and saw a movie every weekend. We stretched out on the hood of the car, holding hands, watching the stars in silence. We curled around cups of coffee until the wee hours of the night, dreaming of what would be someday. He committed grand gestures of romance weekly.

The grand gestures of love have changed a bit.

Love now looks like this...

Love looks like the light in his eyes when he sees his babies for the first time. We laboured together and now, look, look, look! at what we have created together. It's holding our daughter, our son to my breasts and hearing from him that I have never looked more beautiful.

He wears old shorts, t-shirts with the company name on them and ball caps to work. He drives a van. He works with his hands, building and creating, all day. He comes home every day and needs a shower. He provides without complaint. And then reads Kierkegaard all evening.

He gathers the children up early on a Saturday morning and takes them to the playground so that I can sleep in the bed with the windows wide open all by myself for two hours. Feeling the breeze, stretched out, feeling pleasantly lazy after when the house is quiet for just a while.

I get up in the night, wondering why I haven't heard the baby crying yet to find him sprawled out in the hallway, covered in the afghan I crocheted for him once, his head pillowed on his crooked arm, fast asleep. When I wake him up and ask what in the world he's doing, he responds that he is staying up with the baby so I can get a bit of sleep. So go back to bed, luv.

We dance in the middle of the tiny living room, able to reach out and touch both sides of the walls when we are together. We turn slowly while Anne Murray sings Danny's Song, his hand cupping the back of my head, holding me there against his heartbeat. We hear the tinies softly breathing and turning in their sleep when the song stops. We are standing in the middle of a darkened room, still swaying. We slide to the carpet and kiss until the baby wakes up.

Sometimes, when he says I love you, in the morning, as he's leaving for the day, I well up with tears. Our kitchen counter with cereal and milk on it, tinies still in their jammies, dancing around him waiting for their kiss. And he always kisses me last, my mouth the last thing to touch him before he heads out.

When our daughter asks for a long drive on a Saturday, we know we raised her right. We pile in the car and just drive and drive and drive, windows down, looking for a place to stop and play.

Love looks like a big bear of a man that wears a princess crown with pink fluff on it, sitting in the middle of the floor, playing football with a pretty dress-clad girl.

We dream no longer of urban lofts on busy streets. We don't even dream of being important. We find ourselves learning to let go. We don't dream of overseas adventures often nor do we dream of fame and fortune. Being busy seems rather overrated.

We dream of old farmhouses surrounded by trees that have a tire swing. We dream of gardens and family homesteads. We dream of big family with happy chaos and barefoot summers. We dream of roots going down, growing old together. We dream of a simple and slower life together, close to each other all of our days.

Love is here to stay.

(originally posted 6 July 2009)

This weekend, we marked an anniversary. It's been 11 years since our first date, when we were just 19 years old.

To celebrate, I cleaned the washrooms, did all of the laundry and made many, many home cooked whole food meals. And Brian? He tore up the carpet in our basement and lifted tiles, leaving red rings on his knees, dust in his hair and a deep ache in his back.

We lay on our couch, both exhausted, watching the Olympics, my feet in his lap, his hands wrapped around my toes to keep them warm.

I've never loved him more. I don't know how I could love him more than I do now...but I thought that yesterday.
And the day before that.
And the day before that.


Photo: Brian and I in the summer of 1999, just a few months after we started dating. Back when I fake-and-baked for that lovely summer glow. Not a bad job for a selfie, before the days of digital cameras.

In which I share my vast and vital knowledge of knitting

First of all, pahahahahahahahaha!

I am an amateur, very much a beginner knitter. But I have gotten quite a few emails from people who don't knit but want to learn, asking how I learned. So here you go.

When I was just six, my Granny, succumbing to my repeated requests, sat down and tried to teach me. And Nellie, whose virtues clearly did not include the patience to teach small children to knit, declared me hopeless and went back to her garden.

I learned to crochet in university because every Thursday night, my girlfriends and I would watch more hours of TV than should be legal. After all, it was MUST SEE TV - namely, Friends. We'd sprawl on each other, legs crossed and crochet while dying - dying - when Ross finaly kissed Rachel in the coffee shop. I crocheted one enormous afghan out of acrylic yarn. It took me four years and ended up being a New Year's Resolution (as in, #7. Finish that stupid afghan). We still have it and it's a favourite of Brian's now.

I always had a yearning for knitting. I love hand knits, yes, but I wanted to know how to do it. I felt like I wanted that connection to creativity and womanhood.

At a friend's prompting, I picked up the "Stitch n' Bitch" book and started to read it. I managed to learn how to cast on and do an awkward knit stitch which resulted in this gawd-awful scarf. (AGAIN, with the acrylic!)

(Yes, that's Annie. she was nearly 18 months old here.)

I couldn't figure out purling and that's how I wound up, sitting on a metal folding chair with my poor 8-months-pregnant sister, whom I dragged along with me for moral support, in the back room of Shan's Needleworks.

Shirley taught us how to knit. And well.

Then I just fell in love with it.

I've read that it's the new wave of feminism. Evidently we are reclaiming the work of our grandmothers. Traditional "woman's work" has been reclaimed by women, as we choose to see it as just as valuable as traditional "man's work". I can see that as being true. Most of our mothers were set free from the obligation of these things - baking bread, knitting socks, sole housekeeping, required SAHMing, the requirement to wear high heels and so on - and I am so thankful. But now that we've been set free from the requirement, we have returned to this work, eager to work with our hands again, to slow down, to create. Making time for that side of ourselves, loving and honouring ourselves, our mothers, our grandmothers. Anecdotally, I see it around me. And it's not just knitting. For some of us, it's cooking or gardening or sewing or painting or writing or baking and so on. This work is being seen as creative and life-giving not menial and degrading.


I feel connected by knitting. It's tactile and forces me to be present there in the moment. It's humble, repetitive, challenging and, most of all, meditative. It's been the easiest way I've found so far to be fully present. If your mind wanders, you snarl it all up. I find that I walk this line when I knit - the line between striving and resting. My mind isn't too full but neither is it empty.

It's simply quiet.

And here we are, more than twenty projects later, knitting sweaters and toys, baby sweaters and scarves galore.

My main piece of advice

1. Go to your local yarn store and sign up for a beginner class. I know. That's not what you wanted to hear. But you can watch knitting how-to videos, you can read the books, you can buy your yarn and STILL nothing will make it click for you like a real-live lesson from a real-live knitter. Trust me - I tried to avoid this step. I didn't want to pay for a lesson. I didn't want to sit in a cold back room of a knitting store and learn from a senior citizen named Shirley. But you know what? I loved it. And I learned to knit.

My Favourite Knitting Resources

1. Stitch n' Bitch: The Knitter's Handbook by Debbie Stoller. This is my go-to book because I find the language approachable and very non-knitter-friendly. Plus the illustrations are easy to decipher and follow.
2. Ravelry.com. This is a knitter's dream for new ideas and advice. When I find a pattern, I always go through Ravelry, find the yarn that works, read advice from people who have knit the piece etc. I can spend a bit too much time there, just going from beautiful project to beautiful project. The other feature I love is that you can create an online knitting journal to keep track of what you knit, what yarn you used and even your thoughts on it.

Miscellaneous Bits of Advice

1. Don't be afraid to just try it. What's the worst thing that can happen? You rip it out. That's not so bad.
2. Buy real wool. It feels better to knit with. (When I made that afghan, the yarn was so cheap that it literally squeaked on the needles.)
3. Speaking of which, for needles, I like using either Aero brand or bamboo. Those gigantic metal ones that are many different colours? They look cute but they are way too heavy.
   
4. Don't start with a scarf. Ask my poor mother. She did a garter stitch scarf (which is just knit stitch, over and over, every single row) for AN ENTIRE FIVE FOOT SCARF. She was ready to set fire to it by the time she was nearly done. We all were. It was painful. Start with something smaller like a garter stitch dishcloth.
5. Support your local yarn store by purchasing your yarn and needles there. The great thing about this one is that not only are you supporting them, but when you purchase there, then there is an unspoken rule that you can bring your project in for help. You can't show up at the store with a bunch of yarn that you bought at Michael's and ask for help - it's poor etiquette.
6. Relax and enjoy the process. Everyone learns. You'll screw it up, pull out a few rows, swear a time or two but you'll figure it out.
   
7. Finally, don't worry if your 19-year-old baby-sitter thinks you're old.

(Disclosure: Amazon Affiliate link is used but I recieve no other compensation because no one cares what I think about knitting.)

In which I strive to clarify my thoughts on the Emerging Church

Thanks to Jeremy's inclusion of my post in the introduction to his series about Taking the Theology of the Emerging Church to Task as well as the other bloggers who actually took me seriously (God help us all), my stats counter is heaving and sweating and wondering if it should really begin a whole foods challenge of its own. In short, it's been busy around here.

And many of the people that I have admired and read for years - literally years - seem hurt by what I wrote and that pains me. So for those of you who seemed hurt AND those of you that were elated (Look! Someone else hates emergent too!) by my writings, you missed my point. Both reactions lead me to believe I need to clarify a few things.

Two Things I Need to Say First

-1-

I'm not bitter. And I'm not angry. This was never band-wagon jumping. I've struggled with the Official EC as a movement for the past couple of years, striving to hold on. (Those of you that have just met me, thanks to the considerable linking that post received, wouldn't have that knowledge, I know. But trust me - it's been part of a long journey and the EC is just one part of that.) I am sounding no death knell for the emerging church. I am not even criticising theology - overmuch. I'll leave that to those much smarter than I (which is most of you). Brian McLaren isn't going to hell. And he's not leading thousands there. I have no personal ax to grind and no sense of being let down.

It was never a cheap shot or a bid for being noticed.

To be honest, if I'd known people were actually going to read the damn thing, I might have phrased a few things differently.

-2-

I love the emerging church still. I have a great sense of gratitude towards the movement for introducing me to new faith communities, new friends, old practices that this non-denominational charismatic kid from the prairies had no inklings toward. I remain full of love towards, not just the Emerging Church as an "institution" but those of you that still call that home. I would not be who I am today without it.

What I Hoped For

I really thought - and still do - that the church was emerging in a beautiful new direction. The church is still emerging. We are just the beginning stages of the Third Reformation and I know that.

I couldn't express my hopes better for the church than Kathy Escobar (who hasn't a clue how much I appreciate her writings and perspective) did:

• creativity expressed
• doubt honoured
• equality practiced
• freedom celebrated
• God expanded
• justice pursued
• love, mercy & kindness extended
• pain welcomed
• power diffused

I still get chills when I read it. That is what I yearn to see in the Church, universal.

I am actually still full of hope. People are realising that they are loved. I am realising that I am loved. And living loved is making all of the difference! Those things that Kathy listed, I am seeing come to pass in a million small places, in many lives of those with no blog and no interest in classifying themselves.

Myself, included.

Well, except I have a little blog.

And too many opinions.

Here's the Difference

To me, the Emerging Church has become another institution. I know that there are many of you who say "That's totally not the point!" and you'd be right. It was never supposed to be that. It was supposed to be the power diffused community. But, for better or for worse, the conversation has concentrated itself in one group of people and a few select conversations.

The emerging church (lower case) still excites me. The Emerging Church (upper case, primarily American and rather Official) tires me right out.

It feels religious, in the negative sense of the word. Drawing lines in the sand, demarcations, accusations, secrecy, thriving on fear, exclusive, angry, suspicious of criticism. Many seem defensive that some of us are even articulating these questions.

The Official EC are doing a lot of good things. I know that.

They're doing also doing things that make me crazy. I know you know that.

It seems to me that the emerging church is emerging away from the Emerging Church (and that, my friends, that is one of the worst sentences in the history of the world).

It's Not You, It's Me. Okay, Maybe It Is Sort of You.

I was sorrowed when I realised that EC didn't fit me anymore.

After all, this has been "home" for me for a while now. I truly found myself in the emerging church and have long stood in alignment and support. I'm not a short timer, despite a few snide remarks and emails to that effect, leaving an unsexy revolution. (You can read this, if you don't believe me.) So when it became more and more clear to me that my priorities, my focus and my life didn't seem represented in the Official Conversation, I was genuinely sad.

I'm asking myself honest questions, not delivering heavy handed criticism. I'm not walking away from the conversation, or taking my ball and going home. The conversation hasn't died.

So here's the truth: My post was meant to be about my personal life and not about Emerging Church as a whole.

But now it seems I'm not alone. So maybe it is bigger than I realised.

I don't have much time, to be honest. We work regular jobs - and they're not the kind where you work on sermons for 20 hours a week. I'm raising two small, very active tinies. (And I want more.) We have extended families and good friends that we want to do real life with. I keep up this small blog during their afternoon nap times or, sometimes, when they go to bed at night (although that is prime reading time). We are learning to live a life that reflects our true allegiances, our true values, our true passions. We are trying to live out what God has already worked in.

That's what I meant by:

Ultimately, the reason why I feel rather done with it all is this: it's getting in my way. It's just a distraction to what I really love and need: Father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. I want to be a part of God's heart for the world, an expression of unabashed love and joy, peace and patience.

Has it become a meditator? A distractor like most other movements and institutions, a way to play church, or look busy? Anything to avoid the reality of life and relationship with God will do. We can hide from God in rebellion or in religion. And the EC feels like a bit of a religion to me now.

It's dawned on me that it doesn't fit anymore. And I'm sure I'm not alone. I'm not declaring death or writing eulogies. But I'm not paying attention anymore either.

I am feeling like I'm so busy living the emerging, I don't have much time for the rest of this Official-ness that is going on.