Twilight is for teenage girls what porn is to teenage boys: sick, twisted, evil, dangerous, deceptive, and popular.

This past weekend, millions flocked to movie theaters for the final installment of the teen vampire saga. Tragically, many were driven by their parents, including some cougar moms encouraging and joining their daughters’ obsession with handsome young males.

Our family car won’t be driving to the theater for Twilight—or over a cliff for that matter.

I want to give a special thanks to Mark Driscoll for this tough love approach article to raising kids in a Christ-less culture. Pastor Mark ranted on this garbage-tastic phenomenon before, and finds the whole genre profoundly troubling.

The popularity of supernatural soap operas has inspired some real-life demonic trends. Overreaction? Tell that to the kids biting, cutting, drinking blood—sometimes while having sex—and sinking deeper into the occult:

• NBC News: “Teenagers obsessed with the Twilight vampire saga, or those simply fascinated with fangs, reportedly have been biting each other—hard—and then licking or sucking the blood. ‘These are kids who think they are real vampires,’ said Dr. Orly Avitzur. [. . .] ‘Having that thick, warm copper-tasting blood in my mouth is the best thing I can think of!’ wrote a teenager identified as ‘GothicGirl10’ this year. ‘Sometimes my boyfriend lets me feed off him. I let him feed off me as well.’”
• ABC News: “Paola Hernandez, 15, said a boyfriend tried to pressure her to allow herself to be bitten. ‘He said, “I love you and that’s the way I want to show you,”’ she said. ‘I didn’t give in because it was kind of idiotic.’ She said some of her classmates, mimicking on-screen vampires, even cut their skin so they can taste one another’s blood. ‘That means you’re stuck with them, they have your blood inside of them and you have their blood and so you’re closer to each other,’ she said.”
• Sanguinarius is a popular website for “Real Vampires” that includes a special section for teens with “advice on the problems and issues teen vamps face: school, parents, coping with awakening, how to enter the vampiric community without looking like a fool, and more.” Other resources on the site include techniques for “safe bloodletting and feeding, dealing with bloodthirst, flavoring your donor’s blood, and cooking with blood.”
• Another support page for Real Vampires appeals to outsiders with “a few words for anyone who has ever been bullied, picked on, teased or harassed because you’re different. What you have suffered is wrong. It is wrong for anyone to hit you or harass you, or to make you hate yourself for being different, whether or not you consider yourself a vampire.”
• The Week: “Lyle Monroe Bensley, 19, was arrested in his boxer shorts after he allegedly broke into the Galveston, Texas, home of a randomly chosen single woman, growled and hissed at her, dragged her down the hall, and tried to bite her on her neck. . . . When the police arrested Bensley a short time later, he told them he was a 500-year-old vampire. ‘He was begging us to restrain him because he didn’t want to kill us,’ says Galveston officer Daniel Erickson. ‘He said he needed to feed.’”
• The UK’s Channel 4 produced a documentary about the growing vampire subculture. The chance to play vampire provides an opportunity to “be nasty and evil and let my darker side out for the evening,” says one subject. The film profiles a group of teenagers in Texas who consider themselves to be real vampires (and werewolves). One explains, “When I drink someone’s blood, I feel like I own them in a sense. Like they’re mine.”

Please pray for these kids. If you know them, speak with them lovingly, honestly, biblically, and quickly. Satan is real, clever, and a deceiver who “disguises himself as an angel of light” (2 Cor. 11:14). He’s not going to come at us with a pitchfork and horns. More likely, he’ll attempt to lure people towards darkness with methods like “harmless” entertainment, possibly in the form of bad acting and melodrama.

As a father to a teenage girl, I find it devastating to simply read the most popular web pages that come up when searching for “teen vampire.” There, girls the same age of my 15-year-old daughter are talking about “awakening,” which is their word for converting to paganism (like the Christian word “born again”). In a perverted twist on Communion, their sacraments include the giving of your own blood by becoming a “donor.” This is entirely pagan. These storylines offer eternality without God and salvation; in the place of Jesus’ shed blood, girls and boys shed their own blood to be awakened to their own salvation of a new spiritual way of life filled with sex and occult behavior.

I do not shelter my children from these sorts of things. Pop culture is too pervasive to hide from (on a recent trip to a Barnes & Noble with my daughter we noticed an entire section of books dedicated to “Teenage Vampire Romance”). My wife and I talk to my daughter about these things so that she can be discerning, informed, and safe.

However, we do not treat things like movies, books, and TV shows as harmless entertainment, but rather a potential threat to her well-being to be aware of so she can walk in wisdom by God’s grace. I rejoice that our oldest daughter (and all of our five children) loves Jesus, see right through this demonic deception, and speak freely with us about these sorts of things. I want that for all children and families.

As a pastor and a father, I am particularly concerned for Christian parents who are naively allowing this filth into their children’s lives, buying these books and driving kids to see these movies. To such parents, “It is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God” (Phil. 1:9–11, emphasis added).

I want to give a special thanks to Mark Driscoll for this tough love approach article to raising kids in a Christ-less culture. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving to my third appointment of the day when I suddenly realized that I had not prayed that morning. It wasn’t that I had thought about it and found my schedule too tight to do it but rather in my busy-ness, I had forgotten about praying altogether. You might even say that I had forgotten about God. I felt an intense pang of guilt. This was the first such occurrence in quite some time. Understand, it was not because I am so good, as God knows well. Rather, I believe that for some time I have emotionally left guilt out of the picture.

Though often used interchangeably, shame and guilt are not the same. With guilt, we feel badly that we hurt another. With shame, we feel badly that we are the kind of people who would hurt another. Guilt focuses on the other person, shame focuses on ourselves. Both guilt and shame are somewhat out of favor in our culture these days. Yet, they can each be a positive force in our lives.* Like two sides of the same coin, guilt and shame tend to travel together and for good reason: Guilt can push us to make things right with the one we have harmed. Shame can push us to change ourselves. Those emotions were signals that something was wrong in my relationship with God. Once I could name the emotions, I could reconcile with God through Christ, at which point the emotions simply went away when they were no longer needed. Persistently ignoring our emotions can not only harm us emotionally but also can harm our relationships, even our relationship with God.

Remembrance Day (Photo credit: Lauren Cathy Turner)

386. Remembering… the human ability to call to mind that which lingers and which has meaning

387. Remembrance Day… November 11, the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour… silent thoughtful remembrance of sacrifice of others for my good

388. The Remembrance… The Lord’s Supper… Eucharist… I am taking and breaking and eating and finding good and grace-filled and filled with meaning, because of Jesus sacrifice for me, his body broken for me, his blood poured out for me

389. Memory… the capacity to experience over and over again…

390. remembering to be grateful

391. remembering sacrifice

392. remembering love

393. the silence and sensibility for all this and more

394. leaves surrendering to chill, lack of sun and production of green, the swansong of colours, the final fall to earth and death

395. the things placed upon our hearts as they spill over with thanks

396. beauty

397.  words that last long after we do

398. husband reaching

399. whistle of a son

400. the goodness of all things, the goodness of Papa God

So I receive, remember, respond with thankfulness for all things,

Soli Deo Gloria,

Lesley-Anne

Farmers Market (Photo credit: tamaradulva)

I’ve hesitated writing this for a while, because you know I try to be positive, try to bring something of value here to Buddy Breathing, yet at the same time, anyone who has read BB for a while knows I also am equally committed to being authentic. So, to write a rant (even though Rick Mercer, the rant master, says that ranting is very Canadian and good for you!!) might be considered to be negative, or whiny, or complaining, or blogging with the purposes of dumping on poor folk who didn’t even have a chance to prepare for the mess… uhu. I’ve considered the Biblical truth around Peter’s vision;

Acts 10: 9-16 Peter’s Vision

⁹ About noon the following day as they were on their journey and approaching the city, Peter went up on the roof to pray. ¹⁰ He became hungry and wanted something to eat, and while the meal was being prepared, he fell into a trance. ¹¹ He saw heaven opened and something like a large sheet being let down to earth by its four corners. ¹² It contained all kinds of four-footed animals, as well as reptiles of the earth and birds of the air. ¹³ Then a voice told him, “Get up, Peter. Kill and eat.”

¹⁴ “Surely not, Lord!”Peter replied. “I have never eaten anything impure or unclean.”

¹⁵ The voice spoke to him a second time, “Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.”

¹⁶ This happened three times, and immediately the sheet was taken back to heaven.

Now I recognize the need to look at the whole context of these verses, and I readily admit I need to do more in-depth study, but I just wonder, how do these verses relate to my concerns about food? And, I have to admit after considering all of the above, I am proceeding with my premeditated rant and I’m not sorry about it (yet).

This rant started with a facebook posting last week, “What’s eating me?” and progressed through a day of considerations around food, local food, available food, what’s good food, what’s not good food, what should we really be eating, who says, who is telling the truth, why, why, why, why not, and arrived full circle back here to the “What’s eating me?” because at the end of the day I’m really just pissed off at a situation that I’m not entirely certain I can do anything about. Food. What we are eating that eats me up at the same time.

39/365: Giant Can of Nutritional Yeast 2/8/2010 (Photo credit: @heylovedc)

So, to the grocery store I go, armed with idealism and simplistic goals of buying some food that I can prepare for my family that will be good for us. Sounds like a great place to start, doesn’t it? I mean who doesn’t want to eat healthfully, other than the times we give in to the cravings for salt or sugar or both, most of us want to put things into our bodies that will not only fuel the machine, but will taste good and not poison us in the process.

I’m not highly read up on all the facts around food… I readily admit this. I do need to investigate more, but part of me is wary of academic studies that glorify a food one year and vilify it the next. I’ve watched Food Inc, cheered for Jamie Oliver as he takes healthy eating to America, read the occasional article on the superfoods . My roots are rural, so maybe that’s why I’ve passionately believed in the benefits of whole foods over processed foods for many years. I’ve long stopped haunting the drive thru windows of fast food establishments, unless you include a Starbucks drip coffee from time to time.

I stay home, buy food, cook it, try new recipies, pay attention to what I buy, read the labels. Our family values include the benefit of eating family dinners at the same table for as many days a week as our schedules allow. That’s pretty often. I’ve let go of white bread, cut down on carb intake, increased my intake of water over drinking empty calories, gone from 2% to 1% milk after a rigorous taste testing exercise. I am a well intentioned “locavore”… meaning I believe in the benefits of eating fresh, locally grown produce in season. But as you know, I’m Canadian, half of our food needs fall in times when growing doesn’t happen locally

THE RANT PART…

I headed to the local Superstore grocery store with my ideals and biases, and came away crushed like a can of imported roma tomatoes. The new electronic shelf labels set me off… I don’t like them, they are small, they are confusing, they flash, they remind me I need to wear reading glasses. The fish… even those caught here in North American waters, were all farmed. Any frozen fish… was imported from waters I know even from my most basic understanding of geography to be sketchy and not to be trusted. Veggies and fruits, well, it appears the local packing house and the local S(t)uporstore are un-aquainted. Apples, pears, berries… from south of the border. Tomatoes… gassed and from further afield. So I headed to the rice section, looking for healthy non-white rice options… and then I remembered a news headline on one of the days when I was listening to the news, that announced a broad concern around tainted rice from Asia… hmmm… does that include India, I wondered? Definitely includes China and so after much searching I located a bag of rice, a brown paper bag that looked somewhat more grass roots to me, and it was from California. I’m happy to announce that California Brown Rice is quite nutty in flavour and I will buy it again. Meat… well, I’m still not over the E-Coli scare and a recent study suggesting red meat is guilty of producing all sorts of dietary ills. Dairy… butter, never margarine… don’t ask me why… it’s just a gut sense I have that naturally occurring rather than chemically produced oils are better for me. Eggs… consider cholesterol… milk… consider lactose intolerance of 2/3 of our family members and the cost of lactose free milk vs. regular milk… And on and on it went, from one food group to another to another, reading labels, considering issues, considering rumours of issues, and then on to the dietary restrictions around issues, and finally to the ORGANIC SECTION, in search of anything that might look better, feel safer, add some interest to a narrow selection of food that might or might not feed the family. In that section is where I really lost my mind I guess… in the NUTRITIONAL SUPPLEMENT SECTION to be more precise. Because, in that section, on a bottle of Omega 3 vitamins, was where I read this in teeny tiny print… I don’t know… maybe 3 point text…

Contains acceptable levels of arsenic!!!!!!!

So, is that related to mercury in fish… I mean Omega 3 is fish oil, right? Oh my goodness!!!

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I didn’t know whether to stay or run or say something to someone, anyone who might care to know that our vitamins contain arsenic and that’s completely acceptable to whomever decides the acceptability of these things. And I guess I’m still in shock that my grocery trip clearly was such a personal indicator that our food industry is in a bad state. I really truly think it is. What do you think?

And, if things are as bad as they appear to be, why aren’t we jumping up and down and screaming loudly enough to change something about it?

My husband, whom I dearly love, says it’s a matter of cost.  It’s a matter of cost that it’s cheaper for someone to buy a Big Mac than it is to buy a healthy lunch of fruit and veggies. It’s a matter of cost that we have a 2 tier system of food in this country, that it costs more to buy righteous, healthy, Organic foodthan less healthy alternates. It’s a matter of cost… yes. Costing us our quality of life when we consider the root cause of disease and the impact on us and on our health care system. Yes, in the end, it is costing us our very lives. Well, isn’t it?

organic produce section at Berkeley Bowl (Photo credit: Librarian In Black)

I have no answers… so I guess that doesn’t make me part of the solution… yes, I know, I know. I DON’T WANT TO BE PART OF THE PROBLEM. Still I’m just little old me… one voice in a million crying out in the wilderness, “What are we eating?” What can we eat that is good for us? Can I afford to not eat good food? Am I slowly poisoning my family? Am I becoming obsessed over what the good Lord has deemed “clean” and taking my focus from things that are of much bigger consequence than what I put into my mouth?

So many questions… so much to learn… what to do, what to do???

Lesley-Anne

Housing (Photo credit: james.thompson)

I confess. I still read the newspaper. Not online, on paper. Week before last, one article caught my attention in the Tampa Tribune, “Survey: More People Not Tied to a Religion.”  In it, Michelle Bearden reported on a recent study from the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life (http://www.pewforum.org/Unaffiliated/nones-on-the-rise.aspx). The Pew Forum study found rapid growth in the number of people who report no religious affiliation, though two-thirds of those say they believe in God. I thought many things about that article. It certainly confirmed part of the reason we started The Well: for those who aren’t sure whether want to follow Christ but want a safe place in which work it out. When I told a reporter recently that even those aren’t sure if they want to follow Christ are welcome at The Well, she was quite surprised. Those who follow Christ had to start somewhere and for many, it was at a place of inquiry long before belief. Even long time Christ followers move deeper in their faith, the longer they believe, continuing to seek as a believer as much as they might have before following Christ.

We also started The Well for those who follow Christ but haven’t found a place to live their beliefs, many of whom fall in the category of ‘nones,’ as the Pew Forum calls them. I know we won’t reach all the ‘nones’ but I also know from chatting with people that many looked for a place to belong but didn’t find it in the traditional church. Perhaps partly due to our widespread cultural distrust of institutions or because of hurts received at a particular church or because they simply dropped out for no specific reason at all. But Jesus doesn’t send us out as faithful solitaries. He told us instead “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” (John 13:34a) That speaks of community, community that the Apostle Paul continued and clarified with more than 20 ’one another’ verses. We learn to love in community, to love one another, even to love the most difficult among us. So did Jesus love us. So, whether at house church or cathedral, it is ours to love him and one another.

Last week, as I was leaving an evening event, lightning streaked across the sky and revealed ominously dark rain clouds hanging perilously close to the earth. The lightning was particularly spectacular and frequent that evening. As many of us hurried to our cars, I noticed we instinctively ducked with each flash of lightning, as though making ourselves smaller would somehow save us from a lightning strike. Only days before an area boy died due to lightning, yet here we were, running to our cars to beat the storm. Laughter bubbled up from inside as I slid into my car seat and closed the door, the nervous laughter of “what was I thinking?”

Every day, we do the spiritual equivalent of running through lightning. We ‘duck’ from God as we do things that separate us from him and others, as though the sins we commit could somehow be hidden from him if we only make ourselves very small. We convince ourselves that these things we do aren’t really that bad, that no one knows what we’re doing or worse, that no one gets hurt. But, anytime we behave in ways that are contrary to Christ’s teachings, we are harming someone, often ourselves or the ones we love most. The impulse to duck, though, might just be the key to stopping those behaviors. Just as we instinctively duck the lightning, knowing how much it could harm us, if we listen to our ‘duck impulse’ spiritually, we know exactly when we’ve taken a wrong turn. A course correction in the moment we feel that impulse makes all the difference. As Jesus told us in John 14:26, “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” Sometimes those reminders come as impulses to duck!

This is a short public service announcement to let you know about my new blog

“pop-up-poetry”.

I’m out and about and up to something and wanted you to know.

Feel free to visit me here or there… you know how much I love it when you do!

Lesley-Anne

369. sitting by my reading mother, reading

370. anticipation of Thai food and conversation with family

371. daughters pretty toenails in a new fall colour

372. daughter picking some cords on her electric guitar

373. being asked, saying yes

374. wine tour, corn maze, cidery, and the mercury holding at 18 degrees C

375. his dress shirts fresh from the wash, hung to air dry

376. enthusiasm of dogs

377. views to mountains, vineyards, orchards

378. long light pouring into the garden

379. eyes to see a photograph worth taking

380. stillness, time to listen

381. ambrosia apple with cheddar cheese

382. small talk

383. hydrangeas fading from chartreuse to sepia

384. the question of do you want to play some pool… delivered with a shy smile

385. a holiday weekend to remind us what matters… and to be thankful for what matters

The First Thanksgiving, painting by Jean Louis Gerome Ferris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

FIVE WAYS TO MAKE YOUR KIDS HATE CHURCH

1. Make sure your faith is only something you live out in public
Go to church… at least most of the time. Make sure you agree with what you hear the preacher say, and affirm on the way home what was said especially when it has to do with your kids obeying, but let it stop there. Don’t read your Bible at home. The pastor will say everything you need to hear on Sundays. Don’t engage your children in questions they have concerning Jesus and God. Live like you want to live during the week so that your kids can see that duplicity is ok.

2. Pray only in front of people
 The only times you need to pray are when your family is over, holiday meals, when someone is sick, and when you want something. Besides that, don’t bother. Your kids will see you pray when other people are watching, no need to do it with them in private.

3. Focus on your morals
Make sure you insist your kids be honest with you. Let them know it is the right thing for them to do, but then feel free to lie in your own life and disregard the need to tell them and others the truth. Get very angry with your children when they say words that are “naughty” and “bad,” but post, read, watch, and say whatever you want on TV, Facebook, and Twitter. Make sure you focus on being a good person. Be ambiguous about what this means.

4. Give financially as long as it doesn’t impede your needs
Make a big deal out of giving at church. Stress to your children the value of tithing, while not giving sacrificially yourself. Allow them to see you spend a ton of money on what you want, while negating your command from Scripture to give sacrificially.

5. Make church community a priority… as long as there is nothing else you want to do
Hey, you are a church-going family, right? I mean, that’s what you tell your friends and family anyways. Make sure you attend on Sundays. As long as you didn’t stay up too late Saturday night. Or your family isn’t having a big barbeque. Or the big game isn’t on. Or this week you just don’t feel like it. Or… I mean, you’re a church-going family, so what’s the big deal?

Stained glass at St John the Baptist’s Anglican Church (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have to admit that the past two weeks, I really haven’t been interested in much of anything. I’ve had a nasty case of bronchitis and as happens when I’m ill, I just lost interest in anything beyond surviving the cough. I could tell I was much better this morning because my interest in the ministry I love so much returned.

Sometimes, though, a similar lack of interest plagues our spiritual lives. We no longer eagerly enter prayer time or read the Bible. No pastor’s sermon impacts us as we yawn and criticize. Our small group no longer matters to us. Many decide to find a new church. Others drop the activities that formerly satisfied their spiritual lives. Still others leave the church entirely. It’s a sign of a type of spiritual sickness. The antidote, often lies in re-balancing an unbalanced spiritual life, spent mostly in action and very little in solitude. My personality tends to toward action so I understand all too well. And although others think I’m joking, I really did become part of a Benedictine community to protect myself from an unbalanced spiritual life. Yet, there are many days that I pray morning and evening prayers more out of my commitment to my fellow Benedictines than desire to pray, not because I don’t love Jesus but because I can still all too easily spend much more effort on tasks than on resting with Christ. We may think that skipping a few days or weeks of solitude with Christ doesn’t harm anything but our interest does not lie. Sooner or later, our lack of interest tells us something’s up.

Posting this memory of just a few weeks ago… it’s still vivid as we fall into Autumn… wishing back Summer days…

These are the last days of summer. We plant ourselves deep in the wildness of Tofino, B.C.. Our family doesn’t camp, so ‘wildness’ pertains to the nature around us, not our accommodations. We splurge, choose a private cottage at a quintessential west-coast lodge, twist our way up and over Highway 4 from Port Albernie to the Pacific Rim. It takes forever. We all feel carsick. But it’s worth it for the experience of moss dripped ancient cedars, sharp mountains shrouded in fog tops, the first glimpse of Long Beach and surfers carving over a cold sea. It’s worth it just to be here together. Who knows how many more family holidays we will have. Our three kids are teenagers now.

This Summer has been about intense jobs and camps and independent travel … hence, a lot of time apart. We reconnect here before College and High School and the predictable overflow of our September schedules take over. The lodge offers panoramic Cox Bay beachfront, a surf club, a movie library, private hot tubs and fresh regional fare. We choose well.

We relax and forget, and after our first day of intense book reading and shell hunting on the beach, we find ourselves in the lodge great room, cathedral beam ceiling and huge windows spreading the Pacific Ocean wide and wonderful for the pre-dinner crowd. The room smells faintly of salt and cedar, decorated with First Nations artifacts including a huge Sea Eagle mask hanging above us. Someone suggests a friendly game of Monopoly, just for fun. But games are never fun.

“Shut your yap,” you say.

“That’s it,” I say, “I’m done.”

My game face cracks. I rise abruptly, vacate the club chair and leave my monopolizing family to what remains of their game. I am sick of table talk, underhanded deals and evil eyed assessments of my properties and pile of paper money.  I take a break, visit the restroom, try to gain composure. There really is no other mature choice, so I rejoin my loved ones, son mid-merger with husband. I look at my daughter and roll my eyes.

Our family games always go this way, girls side with girls and try to make deals that are win-win. We are relational first. The guys are competitive, all about hostile takeovers, long term acquisitions, intentionally withholding real estate that opens up the possibility to buy houses or hotels. Personality traits are amplified. History repeats itself, emotions run strong. I am defensive from the first roll of the dice. I align myself with the youngest first, protecting them from my husband. Only our teens don’t need protecting. (side note… I just took a Myer’s Briggs Test and discovered my personality is INFJ… “the protector”… hmmm)

For me, it’s not about winning… at least that’s what I tell myself at times like this. As a child, my parents enrolled me in cooperative programs like Rhythmic Gymnastics and Pioneer Girls and piano lessons rather than competitive sports. Maybe that’s what makes me such a poor candidate for games of any kind. I believe you can play without losing friends and offending family. My husband believes all is fair in love and war and games of any kind.

Easy to see why “Family Game Night” is a fail for us. Hasbro equates playing games together with quality family time, but for us, game nights are chaotic, not bonding. If we host other families, it’s a bit better. With others we Charade and Murder Mystery, and sometimes even Ping Pong. As long as my husband and I are on different teams, as long as he doesn’t raise his eyebrows, as long as he plays fair, I’m OK. There’s even opportunity to celebrate winning. But it’s like walking on thin ice, one wrong step and relationships drown in raging competition. It’s all rather melodramatic!

I’m certain that playing games is good for you, and educational. You can learn strategy, defensive and offensive moves, and teamwork. You can also learn to take offense and develop passive aggressive tendencies. Yes, so much to learn.

Back to our family vacation game of Monopoly. We finish our game, and believe it or not, I win!!! (and right about now you are wondering if what I said earlier is actually true… that I don’t care about winning?) The tables turn late in the game. I choose self preservation over table talk. I buy hotels, I land on Free Parking, I go to jail once, and I make some deals that even my husband would be proud of. Only by this time, we aren’t talking to each other. For a couple of hours. And that feeling of self-satisfaction I have soon ebbs into a feeling of loneliness at the top of the game chain. Why oh why do we play games?

Our Tofino end of summer vacation is opportunity for us to quieten schedules and cell phones and laptops and personal agendas. We feed our senses and souls with epicurian delights, the serenity of the Clayoquot Sound UNESCO Biosphere, quality and quantity time together as a family, and even have space left over for personal interests and reflection.

And, at around 5 pm each day, we make time to meet in the great room of the Long Beach Lodge Resort for another Monopoly rematch.

I guess we are gluttons for punishment.

I guess we just don’t give up that easily, at games or anything else.

I’m sure you’ve heard about them – Christian sports leagues, Christian book clubs, and even Christian motorcycle clubs. An idea born out of the gradual de-Christianization of America, it all sounds good, doesn’t it? Yes, until we test it against the witness of the Bible. Jesus spent a lot of time with the Jews of his day, in the synagogue, at the table, along the road. But he did not do so exclusively. He ate and healed and taught Jews and non-Jews alike, too. He taught us to be salt and light to those around us. So, why have so many come to believe that this means only for other Christians as though we’re in a Christian bubble, a term coined by Rev. Trevor Lee? The mission statement of the United Methodist Church is “To make disciples for the transformation of the world.” Exactly how can we transform the entire world if we contain our existence within a Christian bubble?

I understand the arguments – protect our children from unChristian influences, keep our eyes and ears from seeing or hearing unChristian words or images, create a little part of the Kingdom of God right here on earth so we don’t experience the other side of things. It makes all that is not Christian sound like it has much more power than than it does. What about the power of the gospel and its influence in the lives of people? What about the power of the Holy Spirit to protect us as we learn to love our neighbors? What about inviting everyone else to the inbreaking Kingdom? Otherwise, we have inadvertantly stepped into the same hole that some of the Pharisees of Jesus’ day did as they became so enthralled with every minute detail of the law, they had no room for mercy, kindness, generosity or grace. I know we might be exposed to some stuff hanging out in the world outside the bubble but we can’t reach beyond our Christian friends if we don’t. So, the next time you shy away from those who aren’t in the Christian bubble, think about what would have happened to you if Jesus had done the same thing?

Recently, I requested a bid from a company to work on my lawn. The company comes highly recommended so I anticipated accepting their bid until I heard something the man who prepared the bid said with pride, “We work seven days a week from early morning until dark.” Rather than say yes, I said I would let him know soon, all because I needed to ponder that statement. Days turned to weeks as I traveled for continuing education and took a long vacation. He called multiple times and still I could not commit. Finally, I had to admit to myself that I just couldn’t get past that statement, “We work seven days a week…” It’s not like I don’t do business with other companies that are open seven days a week but I had not seen it for this type of business previously. Before I became a pastor, it used to be clear to me from the fourth of the ten commandments that Sunday was the sabbath, set aside by God as a day of rest and worship. Then I became a pastor and Sunday became a work day for me. And now, I pastor two house churches that purposely do not meet on Sundays and for whom at least part of their sabbath is a weekday evening. I heartily affirm our commitment to house churches that can meet any day or time of the week. As I discovered in this interaction, though, I had not personally re-imagined sabbath in light of our new reality where worship and sabbath rest might be separated from each other.

So, tell me, how do you understand the concept of sabbath? How do you observe sabbath? 

325. the little bird that finds me in a parking lot, drinks water from the lid of my water bottle when I bend down to answer his question

unless (Photo credit: Dean Terry)

326. dog napping at my feet

327. the first writing morning in a long number of days

328. returning to gratitude

329. summer birthdays

330. wine and sweetheart cherries in the candle lit garden

331. friends around the table

332. teenagers sleeping in late

333. teenagers who are gainfully employed

334. husband rising for work

335. healthy bodies

336. the possible

337. “Unless” by Carol Shields

338. remembering Port Townsend tribe

339. opportunities presenting when eyes and hands are open

340. friends who are patient and kind

341. morning sounds

342. finding poems where you least expect

343. considering laundry

344. God who never grows tired, never gives up, waits while I do both

345. wrinkles that prove living

346. a face held by hands, top of head kissed and life words spoken

347. directors of my spirit, soul friends

348. anticipating solitude

349. family holiday plans

350. blueberry waffle plans for tomorrows breakfast

351. photography and captured moments

352. children who pull away, grow strong, test wings

353. young adult son full license success

354. reminders of those with less that teach me more

355. reminders that intentions are not enough

356. reminders to act, phone, speak, write, touch, walk, move…

357. harvest… always

Different kinds of cherries (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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india kerala boat people (Photo credit: FriskoDude)

Part of me longs for extraordinary… while the other part feels rather comfortable with things just the way they are. But the first part, the one I often censor or squelch or call names, it’s the part that is most alive when I watch movies and read books and listen to people talk. It’s the part of me that holds it’s breath, that makes my heart beat just a little stronger than comfort ever will. That deep part of me has a voice that whispers over and over and over until I have to pay attention. I believe God may be calling my name.

What I’m trying to hear and trying to understand is this… that I need, or my heart might need, a jump start… an experience that would be like strapping on those ER cardiac paddles and yelling ‘CLEAR’ and holding my breath and feeling that whomp in my chest, as something big and electric and jarring and different and nothing near ordinary changes something in me. And how that change will effect my writing… as a witness,  writing about things that really matter… all this and more…

I’m a pretty ordinary gal. I’m not much of an adventurer, I’m an artist. I’m not very flexible, resilient, crowd saavy, travel saavy, or extraordinarily brave. At least, I don’t think I am. I speak one language well. So, I’m good with ordinary most days.

And maybe it’s because of my recent birthday, maybe it’s because I just promised my husband that I’m going to live to 100 and I want to make the very most of the next 50 years that I’m thinking I’ve got to bust out and figure it out and get out there in a new way that might change the trajectory of my life… or not. You know what I mean. Talk is… well, just talk.

Last night was girls night out. We went to see The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel… yep, a sweet movie with more than a hint of introspection/perspective on counting our days, measuring our choices, and experiencing a life of joy to the end. Made me wonder if I could be doing things a little differently, a little more focused/purposeful/passionate than I have been so far. I mean, my life in Canada is so… privileged, so…vanilla, so… expected. And it’s not that I can’t do good things at home, can’t impact the world/my world from here, but still it’s awfully safe and sane and sanitized… can you relate? Still I’m not convinced… still not certain if this is real, or my imagination.

When I got home last night I spent a couple of hours online investigating India…and today I’m thinking some more about it… and I’m wondering what will come of all this? What is this all about?

India – Kids – 092 (Photo credit: mckaysavage)

God, what are you trying to tell me?

God, I’m opening my ears, my eyes… to what is

India… far far away, crowded, hot, humid, beautiful architecture and people, deep poverty, intensely spiritual, rich in culture and history,

overwhelming humanity… India.

and I’m paying attention, God,

Lesley-Anne

Bridge Olympic Rings (Photo credit: Mabacam)

I was up and out early this morning, and on my drive I turned the radio to CBC. Headlines included the Premiers discussions around the Enbridge Northern Gateway Pipeline, and the countdown to the Opening Ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Summer Games in London, England. In just 5 hours much of the world will be watching in awe as London unveils what has been held secret for so long.

And, although I’m not an athlete, I couldn’t help but feel the excitement as I listened to some interviews of Londoners who have had this event in their sights for seven years. There’s something about planning, about setting your mind and heart towards the future that catches us all up, grabs our hearts. And issues of commercialism and athlete drugging aside, there’s also something pretty spectacular about the young people that dedicate their lives to being the best they can be. The training, the perseverance, the undivided eyes set on the goal… GOLD. So, we watch, we admire, we are inspired by these ones who embody something most of us can only dream of.

And in the echo of their accomplishment we hear an invitation… to be the best of who we are with the gifts we have been given.

Gifts for today,

311. how a pedestrian walk-way can be a wildlife corridor for a neighbourhood white tailed deer

312. the words and infectious attitude of Canadian Olympian Clara Hughes on CBC Radio One

Clara Hughes (Photo credit: John Biehler)

313. heart-felt greetings and farewells at airports

314. another sunny summer day, projected high of 29 C

315. Tim Hortons drive through server calling me ‘sweetie’… twice

316. Tim Hortons coffee ~ double, double

317. a peaceful porch invitation to pause and consider the naming of gifts once again

318. lime green pool float glowing in sunlight

319. bumble bees blessing Spirea blossoms

320. a bowl full of beach combed seashells

321. plans for blueberry pancakes with the kids

322. anticipating pageantry and excitement of Olympic Opening Ceremonies in just 5 hours

323. that feeling of being in a sweet sweet place, like The Flying Scotsman, Erik Liddell, winner of the men’s 400 metres at the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris, who said this “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.”

Olympic Torch for the 2008 Summer Olympics passes through Stratford in London. Stratford will be a major location for the 2012 Summer Olympics. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Ten years ago or so I often saw things as I walked my dog and talked to God along the way. I was reminded of those wonderfully intimate times this morning as I drove to meet a circle of women who are becoming very important in my life and spiritual development. I saw things along the way today… and they revealed a deeper sight that I will share with you. May it bring you peace. God often brings peace in the midst.

I saw… a soldier dressed in his fatigues walking a very happy dog with tail back and forth and tongue lolling and face turned up to his master with an obvious ‘smile’ to share (those of you with dogs know this canine ability to smile). The dog was so full of joy at the walking with the one he loved that I almost didn’t see the obvious, that this pup had three legs, not four. At some point the fourth leg was removed due to an accident or disease and the dog carried on in a way that appeared to be without any real impact on his ability to enjoy the life he’d been given.

and I saw… a man waiting at a traffic light, a man whom I’ve noticed for years now, pocket protector in his short sleeved dress shirt, comb-over hair almost all grey, dress pants, and in one hand his black briefcase… very much the ‘Death of a Salesman‘ image here. And his body, his 60-something body, had conformed to the weight of whatever was in the briefcase, turning in, shoulders dropped forward, arms almost lengthened by the pull of the case. He was heading… somewhere… no smile, no joy, yes purpose, but no outer signs of pleasure.  Compared to the dog.

And here’s what I think I’m going to take from these images that linger in my mind, I’m going to take what I saw and own the truth that speaks. How we each have a choice to carry or to leave behind that which is diseased, that which weighs us down, that which we do not have to carry. And with that another choice, to leave the burden behind and embrace the joy of the moment, the gift of what remains rather than what could have been, might have been, and maybe still is. The dog made adjustments to how it walked to enable him to bounce on three feet. The man, burdened for years, his body also made adjustments, but in a way that left an impression of sad emptiness and pursuit of something just beyond his reach. Yes, I’m reading much into this, but I believe there really is something to it… a revelation of truth in the ordinary.

Thought I’d just lay it out there for you. To do with as you wish.

Journeying and watching, sometimes spirit sight,

Lesley-Anne

Poetry (Photo credit: Kimli)

Such a simple excuse reason, and it happened so easily, so quickly, so sneakily, that it almost went undetected. Until I realized upon a slightly closer examination of my inner/outer attitude and my focus that I had completely LOST IT! I mean I stopped keeping track, I stopped counting and naming and writing down the things that I am thankful for. And guess what happened then, I FORGOT TO BE THANKFUL.

My life is often plagued with forgetfulness. What appears as a life changing idea one week becomes a vague recollection the next. I’m full of good intentions, full of them. And I am such a good starter and such a bad finisher. How about you?

So, after taking a week out for Centrum Port Townsend Writers Conference, and having limited my writing to poetry and to editing poetry and to learning about writing better poetry, my “one thousand gifts” list became a must-do -later-but-can’t-do-right-now kind of thing until I got home. Home again, I post once full of the fullness of my experience and gratitude for all of it and then… yesterday… I realized I’d stopped altogether. One week after being back home with my beloved ones and not one addition to the list of gifts. NOT ONE!

I’m telling you this because I want to be entirely up front with who I am and what I am capable of. And not capable of.

Anyway, I’m going to start again. Or should I say, re-start.

295. a memory that works often but not always

296. a new idea that is still a good idea

297. family around the dinner table

298. friends who drop off cookies to my kids when I am away

299. friends who drop of banana bread to my kids when I am away

300. a husband that supports my creative growth as a writer

301. brown dog swimming in the pool

302. decorating plans with my best girl

303. friends on the porch, wine in the glass

304. watching my girl treat my boy to a clean truck

305. pentunia party of colour

306. huddled under the porch in pouring rain

307. a novel based on facts I know nothing about until now

308. worship hands up voice open heart wide

309. reading a magazine in the shade

310. the grace to re-start

Dragging my feet, lifting up my eyes, sometimes in a fog,

Lesley-Anne

Port Townsend’s downtown waterfront in the fog (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Barrack Building 225, Fort Worden State Park, Port Townsend, Washington

For those who have just joined me in this experience of seeing gifts in every moment, along the way, as we wait, as we struggle suddenly overcome with blind eyes, I thought it might be helpful to share what began with a single step. It was a book. Ann Voskamp’s book, “One Thousand Gifts” that I picked up one day at Chapters, and then a confirmed thought process, a prompting, a nudging of the spirit, and then the journey beginning and spreading out before me this eucharisteo, this thankfulness for what is set before me when I have eyes to see.

So please consider how the naming of life’s gifts might be something worthy of time and space in each of our lives, and might carry within it the potential to change us from beggars into those overwhelmed by a feast of grace. Here is the blog post where it all began for me… my naming one thousand gifts. That was my start, and although I can’t always document each gift as it happens, I’ve chosen to name many of the gifts here on this blog as a reminder… mostly to me. I hope you join me… and if you do, please let me know… share your list. You are most welcome to do that.

And, if you have the opportunity to pick up and read Ann’s extraordinary book, please do it!

Journeying,

Lesley-Anne

So my list continues:

263. a long journey with a new friend

264. finding your tribe

265. expressing what is risky and beautiful

266. healing through creative expression of a thought, or two, or three

267. fog over sea, first light

268. the long call of a fog horn for safe passage

269. being on the water

270. historic buildings and used book stores

271. a phonecall home, the sound of voices you love

272. scars

273. a bench of your own in a quiet place

274. patriotism

275. listening and learning

276. new ideas

277. new people

278. the sense of place unique to every place

279 – 294. gifts captured in photographs

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Recently, I accepted a Facebook Friend Request from a friend of a friend. Soon after, this person’s posts started landing in my Facebook Home. Many of them were angry, vicious even, laced with hateful and vulgar language toward friends and family members. I have no interest in ‘hearing’ such language nor am I interested in exposure to such venom. Will online interactions, Facebook and otherwise, crush the few manners still present in our society? Once upon a time, one could count on a certain amount of civility in public interactions due to the constraints of the culture.  And, despite the illusion to the contrary, for most of us, our Facebook posts are public interactions. Even if we limit interactions to friends, that still could mean hundreds of readers. Perhaps our culture hasn’t caught up to the Facebook age but I think it more likely that the constraints of civility are giving way to anything goes. Even at the grocery store or at ballgames, folks push these constraints to the breaking point. Apparently multiple organizations across the country share my concern as local schools, hospitals and even a college recently launched civility awards for employees as well as public figures. Like them, I simply want to find kindness and self-control a more frequent guest in our interactions, online and otherwise. And this is particularly true for us as Christians when we consider that the Holy Spirit gives us the fruit of the Spirit: ”But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Gal. 5:22-23)” How can we proclaim the truth of the gospel of Christ with integrity if we contaminate our communications in ways so contrary to His nature?