Day One of Thirty Days of Prayer: He Was There

Those older boys took advantage of me and I was the one who felt guilty, like I had somehow invited their inappropriate actions. I was eight the first time and ten the next. Both my parents have been married three times each. I didn't see my dad for seven years so my grandpa walked me down the aisle on my wedding day. I don't need to elaborate for you to imagine all the confusion, anger, sadness, and sometimes happiness that wraps around a kid going through years of those changes. I moved twenty-one times. I attended eight different schools. I have watched more pets die in tragic ways than I can count. I have been a passenger in six car accidents--one that left me hospitalized with a broken pelvis, a broken bone in my back, and stitches in my head at the age of sixteen. I've lost a couple of friends to vehicle crashes. I've experienced miscarriage. I broke my foot on my honeymoon. I've watched family suffer with terrible diseases and die. I've experienced a deeply difficult time in my marriage that scared me ferociously. Why am I writing all of this? Certainly not to draw attention to negative events in my life, or to elicit pity from my dear reader. I desire to proclaim that prayer has set me free from the chains that could easily have burdened me for the rest of my life. 

 

I am not the only one who has a story. Millions of people have lived through even more devastating loss and trauma than me. However, I will always take the opportunity to give God the praise for seeing that little girl forty-three years ago, holding her through the pain and twirling her around in a beautiful dance in the joyful moments. I always knew Jesus was there, that He loved me and that prayer shifted me from sorrow to joy, bad circumstances to good. Whether it was the prayers of my mom, grandma, a neighbour, the church family, a stranger, or me calling out to Him from my bunk bed, quivering under my Holly Hobbie quilt, those desperate, faithful pleas moved the heart of God.

Most of my thirty or thirty-one day blog series are intended to keep me accountable and for me to learn as I write rather than stand on my soapbox and teach like an expert. I hope you'll join me as I grow in prayer over the month of November. I've already seen miracles from "knee time", but I pray these next 30 days will cause an exponential impact on any eyes that fall on these posts or any person who is a recipient of all of our prayers together.

Six Stories: Number Six

The Story of My Dreams

 

When I was a little girl, I used to play teacher. I'd gather my sisters and everything I could find that resembled desk papers, books and classroom materials. I'd make your aunties sit and listen to me explain the lesson in a kind and sweet voice, then I'd hit them heavy with the mean teacher voice. It was fun (I'm sure more for me than for them). I dreamed of being a teacher and even though I didn't know how one would go about becoming one, I just felt that might be something that would suit me.

There were other dreams that came but quickly faded, like when I'd climb onto the city bus and watch the driver turn the very large steering wheel with that black knob. I'd imagine myself driving through the whole city picking people up and pushing the button to empty their coins into the machine. Or when I'd watch the garbage man toss the contents of our big cans into his magic truck and pull the lever and make all the stinky, dirty trash disappear. Or when we'd go to Swiss Chalet for dinner and the waitresses would hold that circular tray above their heads filled with plates of food. They were talented indeed and I longed to be one of them. Sometimes, I'd even wish I could pump gas all day and just breathe in the delicious aroma of the gasoline (yes, really). But usually, at the end of the day, I just wanted to be a teacher.

My dream came true mostly because it was time to go to university and I had to pick something to study. As I perused the syllabus, nothing else truly appealed to me. I hadn't thought much about teaching my sisters in those days but I figured it might work and I could always change my mind. Well, I finished with a Bachelor of Arts degree and a Bachelor of Christian Education, which meant I was a teacher. I got a job teaching grade three and then kindergarten after that. I taught for four years before I became pregnant with Meghan. As you were all being born, I continued teaching Women's Groups, photography classes, quilting, scrapbooking, Bible studies, etc. I decided I wanted to be home when you were young because I could go back to the classroom when you were all older. As time went on, Daddy and I were led by God to homeschool you. And so, I continued teaching to the greatest little people on earth.

 

My children, I'm living the dream.

 

 

Six Stories: Number Four

How I Met Jesus

 

When I was a little girl, Mama was very intentional with every word she spoke about Jesus. She wanted her three daughters to accept Him as young as we could say His name. And so, I was just very wee when I told God's Son I loved what He had done for me on the cross and was excited to see Him in Heaven one day. Of course, at that time, I was learning to love Him, but had no idea what I would face in years to come.

 

One thing Mama always taught us was that God was good and the bad things in life were not from Him. God loves us so much that He hurts when we hurt and so, He actually carries us through hard circumstances. I can absolutely attest to that fact, my children. I've told you some of the difficult things I encountered in my life. Some were things most people experience from time to time and others were such deep wounds that I thought I might never recover. However, it's when I felt all hope was lost that I cried out to Jesus. I remember times when I could almost feel His arms wrapped around me.

 

I often took Jesus' amazing love for granted and although I didn't get into trouble with the Law or do outwardly rebellious things, I had a proud heart. It was the little things that I know broke the perfect, righteous heart of God. I harboured anger and bitterness inside. I struggled with judging other and gossiping through prayer requests--oh, it was very subtle because I was careful to still act like a Christian. It wasn't until I was grown up that I came face to face with my sin. I was doing the kinds of things that no one sees but God. I learned a very hard lesson and was forced to turn from my sin or I would continue being a "fake" for the rest of my life, I'm sure. I thought I loved Jesus but it was at this point that I realized following Him meant actually living the way He wanted me to. I was finally prepared to truly do that. This is why I always tell you, my precious kiddos, that it's so important to stay receptive to the Holy Spirit's voice.

As Daddy and I raise the four of you, I pray that we would diligently teach you God's Word and introduce you to His Son in such a way that you would desire to know Him more. As you have all received Him into your lives already, I know that His Holy Spirit will guide you and speak to you all about an awesome plan for your life. I pray you'll remain sensitive to the conviction of sin, confess easily, turn from it and live wholeheartedly for Jesus. Life is not easy, but without Jesus, I don't know how true healing and help arrives. More than that, the love He shares with us will blow you away!

 

Tomorrow I will share the story of how Daddy and I met. 

 

 

Six Stories: Number Three

A Story Of Your Strength

 

Meghan, this story about you is quite recent and it happened at one of your ballet competitions. Being an elegant and skilled dancer, I had no concern about how you were going to perform this particular day in Niagara Falls and you had no evidence of nervousness. You took the stage and began to sweep your arms into place as the music commenced. Within about five minutes, the audience clapped and your siblings and I rose from our seats to go and retrieve you from the dressing rooms. On the way, I bumped into your teacher who exclaimed, "She forgot!"

 

"Forgot what?" I asked.

 

"The second half of her dance! She just made it all up!" and off she hustled.

 

I moved on in the opposite direction, pushing through the crowd and finally found you. You rushed toward me gushing that you had forgotten everything. You said you totally blanked but kept dancing and literally created your own dance. I squeezed you hard. I hadn't even noticed! I was so proud that you didn't stop or run off the stage, and you didn't cry. I told you I was prouder of you in that moment than of all your winning competitions put together. You were concerned about receiving a low score but I assured you it didn't matter. You just laughed at yourself and said, "Oh well, whatever!" Later, your teacher encouraged you not to worry, as well.

 

When the adjudicator took his place on the stage, you were called up to receive your award. You won one of the highest marks, as well as, a judge's special award called, "Perfect Poise".

 

God truly blessed you that day. You were thankful for His gift to you and I was thankful for the strength you demonstrated in realizing what was truly important.
 

Molly, this story took place a couple of years ago when we were camping. You often ride your bike round and round the circular road near our campsite and this time, you met a little girl around your age, named Laurel. For several days, you and Laurel did everything together. You played dolls, hunted for snails, and ate popsicles. I remember you sitting on a blanket near our trailer and talking together. You came to me later and shared what the two of you had been talking about.

 

"Mommy, I asked Laurel if she knew Jesus. She said no, so I told her about Him. I don't think her family are Christians and it makes me sad."

 

I pulled you onto my lap and told you that was very bold and strong of you to not be afraid to tell her about your faith. Jesus has done so much for our family and we need to share so others can know His love too! I was so proud of you. We prayed for Laurel and the next day her family packed up to head for their next campground. You've never seen her since but you still pray for her once in awhile when you think about it and I'm so grateful for your tender heart.
 

Emily, when you were a little girl, you told me you wished you were a black person. You are very attracted to black friends and I've always believed God has something special in store for you because you have such a strong desire to go to Africa. Now, that doesn't mean all your friends are in need or come from there, in fact, some are wealthy Canadians! But for some reason, even though you know that, it's all intertwined in your mind. You even dream about it. Once, you told me you saw a big blanket in a dream and it was filled with food. You took it and handed it out to many people. You have a philanthropist's heart, which is nurtured by the Holy Spirit as you pray about your future. Your strength amazes me as you recount how you know you're going to have a restaurant or help people with food somehow. As I listen to my little girl, I am excited for the adventures you'll enjoy with God, but I'm also praying for protection and guidance for you. You're going to do great things! You already are.

 

Oliver, you love your Sunday School class but you've struggled with a couple of boys being unkind to you. It hasn't been a big deal but it sometimes caused you to want to make sure your friends were there before you entered the room. We prayed about it and devised a couple ideas on how to approach a bully. They seemed to work, sometimes, but the best part was that God blessed you with a particular friend you really like to play with.

 

One day, you climbed into the truck after church and told me all about a new boy.

 

"Mommy, there was a new boy today and he didn't have any friends. I went right up to him and asked him if he wanted to play with me. He was happy."

 

Oliver, that melted my heart. What a strong and sensitive boy you are! That's exactly the kind of character Jesus is pleased with. I'm so thankful you're learning to be caring toward others by using your experiences already. I'm looking forward to watching you mature in the Lord and take a stand for Him and others.

 

Tomorrow I will share how I met Jesus.

Six Stories: Number Two

How You Received Your Name

 

Meghan Grace Since we thought you were a boy for the whole pregnancy, we called you Joshua (poor girl). I'm sorry about that :) However, we did also think of names for girls... just in case. After you were born, we named you Meghan simply because we liked it. We didn't know many Meghans and with me being a teacher, I wanted a name that had not been one of my students. Your middle name, Grace, belonged to your Grandma Taffs. She truly was a graceful and gentle lady. You met her as a babe just before she passed away. Your nick-names are Meggers, Meg, Megs, Meggie, and Mouse.

Molly Joanna Oh how I fell in love with the name Molly during my pregnancy with you! Daddy wasn't too sure at first but I kept rolling it off my tongue to him and he grew to love it too :) I think you really suit your name. We say you're a lot like Auntie Holly, which makes sense! We nick-named you Molly-pop and since then, you've been Mollers, Magoo, Magoosta, Molly-Mocket, Mo-Jo, and Mollsies. Joanna is Grandma Vanderkruk's middle name, except spelled Johanna and pronounced, Yohonna. I wish we had gone with that lovely spelling from the beginning but it's still sweet, nonetheless.

Emily Katherine I loved the name Emily since I was young. I reserved until you were born because there were so many Emilys in the world that I wasn't sure I wanted to use it. Daddy and I actually named you Isabella in the hospital but on the afternoon of your second day, I told Daddy you really were an Emily to me. It is a timeless name, no matter how popular, and I love how it sounds. Your middle name belongs to Auntie Kathy, who is very special to our family. Your nick-names are Emmers, Emmy-Lou, Emmerson, Baby Girl and Emmy.

Oliver William Another name that made me smile. Whenever we told people your name, they paused for a moment, let it sink in and then they exclaimed how much they loved it. It just seemed so strong but gentle to me at the same time. And that's exactly like your character! William is Daddy's middle name. He was named after his Opa, who passed away shortly after we were married. Being named after Daddy makes you very privileged :) Your nick-names are Willy, Buddy, Sport, Son, and Bubby. (Daddy won't allow anyone to call you Ollie :)

 

 

Tomorrow I will share Story Number Three: one that reflects each of your strengths.

  

Six Stories: Number One

I came across an article today http://allume.com/2013/06/six-stories-every-mom-should-tell/ that inspired me to tell my children, once again, the special things about them and their lives. Adhering to the six story ideas, I began to wonder if each of my kiddos could recount the ways they are unique and why and how our family began. So, Meghan, Molly, Emily and Oliver, here are six stories for you!

 

 

Your Birth Story

 

Meghan, my firstborn, you were planned a year before I became pregnant with you. I was teaching Kindergarten and I contracted Shingles, which put your conception on hold. Finally, your tiny body began to grow in me and I was so excited.. and so sick. I had nearly every single negative symptom of pregnancy you could feel, I even thought I had miscarried you at one point. However, I was still able to work through it and took my maternity leave in February. After a difficult twelve and a half hour labour, without anything for pain,  you were born six days past your due date. Daddy and I thought you were a boy the entire pregnancy. What a surprise we had when the midwives asked Daddy to check for himself what gender you were! Wow! I was thrilled beyond description! You were 8lbs. 9oz. As our first, you taught us how to be parents :)

 

Molly, after a very sad miscarriage (partial molar pregnancy), I was more than eager to have you in our family! I suffered horrible morning sickness--all day--and night, but with one lovely girl already as a result, I was blissfully thankful. It was obvious you loved music and seemed to be dancing inside of me when I'd attend a concert or play loud music. You kept me awake and timing contractions for two weeks before your due date and I became so exhausted, the doctor suggested an induction two days later. I was so grateful! Finally, I would see my baby girl (whom I knew was a girl from the ultrasound ;) that very day! This time when an epidural was offered, I quickly replied in the affirmative! However, it wore off as soon as it was time to push you into the world. Yikes! All the pain disappeared when you were placed on my chest and I marveled at your beauty. You were 8lbs. 1oz.

 

Emily, you were a wee bit of a surprise to us :) Nevertheless, I was elated at the thought of another baby. I secretly hoped you were a girl too, and when the ultrasound revealed you were, I began to excitedly plan for your arrival. Again, I was nauseous for the first few months but besides sciatica, I was in general good health. Toward the end of my pregnancy with you, I was measuring seven weeks more than my due date! Were you going to be a huge baby? The doctor was concerned and induced me ten days early. The epidural worked well and I thoroughly enjoyed your delivery. You were 8lbs. 5oz. Not so big after all! You had a gorgeous, full head of black hair and dark skin. So different from my two blondies! I was in love immediately.

 

Oliver, you were also a surprise. Although we didn't plan to become pregnant, we quickly enjoyed the thought of having four children, What an amazing gift from God! Now, with three little girls, it was interesting to imagine the possibility of a boy. I say interesting because I really didn't know what I'd do with a boy (besides babysitting and teaching them)! I had two sisters and now three daughters. When the ultrasound revealed you were going to be just like Daddy, we showed everyone the pictures from the technician. What fun it was to be able to buy little boy things this time. Daddy and I went to a hotel with another couple to celebrate New Year's Eve. I didn't realize that I was beginning labour until the next day when my contractions continued and intensified. You were not induced until January 3rd! By now I was realizing my body doesn't always complete labour on its own. You came into the world at 7lbs. 13oz. and your sisters felt like you were their baby :)

 

 

Tomorrow I will tell Story Number Two and share how you received your names.

 

 

The Adventures Of Finnegan

I looked up from tossing the spinach salad and watched as my boy was engaged in some tossing of his own. Finnegan, his beloved, stuffed puppy from babyhood, was being catapulted higher and higher from the deck and finally landed on the roof. Oliver shot a surprised but satisfied glance toward the kitchen and I called out, "Daddy's going to have to get him now. There's no way you're going up there. You know that, right?" I sensed my boy's tossing game carried the intention of perching rooftop with Daddy again. A few weeks earlier, my husband taught our son how to clean the rain gutters and the two of them ascended the fairly flat roof of our home--an exciting and daring feat indeed for a small boy. Nevertheless, it seemed to me, the Spring rush of our family business might just delay the rescue.

 

At dinner, Oliver announced that Finnegan had taken a trip to the roof and would Daddy please retrieve him? My husband put his plate in the sink and turned and held his son's head in his hands. He began, "Buddy, I have to go back to work, but remind me tomorrow again and I'll get him for you."

 

It stormed that night.

 

The trauma that ensued was predictable and that little fellow threw his skinny arms around my waist and wept as his sisters recounted the lightening, thunder and torrential rains.

 

 "Finnegan is dying!", he cried, "We have to get him now!"

 

Somehow, in the next minutes, we became distracted with a visitor at the door and then into the truck for a few errands, and that puppy remained on the roof for another two days. Each time Oliver reminded his daddy about his rooftop friend, we were heading out the door again. Nights were difficult as Oliver climbed under the covers and had no one to snuggle. It was clear this young lad, who had recently teetered on the edge of disbelieving his puppy was real, was convinced his furry friend was feeling every moment of pain on the top of our home. As I kissed my boy's forehead and wiped his tears, I began to feel like we were failing as parents and vowed that tomorrow, indeed, Finnegan would be rescued.

 

After four days, the sopping-wet, brown puppy was lowered by my husband into desperate, waiting arms. Oliver squeezed that filthy dog and closed his eyes. He whispered, "Finnegan, you're back." I told him Finnegan needed to be cleaned up in order to spend the night in his bed. "Yes," he agreed, and we entered the house. What Oliver didn't realize was that I meant he needed to be thrown into the washing machine.

 

I pushed a load of light clothing into the machine and added Finnegan and some detergent. Then I went to check the bathroom hamper for a bit more to fill the load. When I returned, my boy had removed his puppy and was crying again.

 

"He can't go in there! He'll drown!" 

 

I knelt down to his level and explained how he'll just do the doggie-paddle, "It's like a ride at the fair for him." He refused to believe it and clung tighter to his beloved. Finally, I managed to pull the stuffed friend from my son and remind him that Finnegan would not be entering his bed sheets with filthy, wet fur. He relented. 

 

Ten minutes later, I walked into the laundry room to find Oliver kneeling with hands on the glass door of my front-loader, sniffling. His sisters were sympathetically perched behind him as he traced that puppy, sloshing round and round, with his finger, and cried, "There he is... there he is..." The girls came running when the machine changed to the spin cycle. Their brother was a wreck. The drying process was another traumatic event. Oliver begged for no more spinning.  I convinced him that he'd get to hold Finnegan quicker if we didn't hang him out to dry but let him get fluffed up in the dryer... for just a few minutes. Molly was able to empathize because she had experienced the same difficulty over releasing her favourite blankie to be washed. She comforted her brother by placing her own stuffed piglet into the dryer as company for Finnegan. It worked. Oliver felt better, Finnegan felt better and I was grateful for a thoughtful big sister when I had run out of wisdom.

I slipped out for some groceries that afternoon, and when I returned, my son had his puppy under his arm. I asked him if Finnegan was feeling okay. Those big hazel eyes glared up at me and he pouted, "NO, he's DIZZY!"

 

The next two weeks were less eventful but that little dog joined us for all occasions. The backpack zipper was zipped just enough to allow Finnegan's head to peek out and breathe, the truck seat beside Oliver held the small pet, he strolled through grocery store aisles and friend's homes. It was apparent, Oliver was keeping a good eye on his friend, who normally only hung out in his bed. The rescue and adventures of Finnegan will never be forgotten in our family and perhaps one day, he'll be passed on to my son's child and he/she will be told about the love between a boy and his dog. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The World Is Our Classroom

Who could resist school in the backyard? We revel in it. Somehow with the distractions of birds and blooms, bikes and butterflies, we managed to get more done than we normally do inside. Mmmm, delicious outdoor inspiration, for sure. (photos taken a couple of weeks ago)

Victoria Day Traditions

I think this place is where we laugh the most. Between the kids and the adults, an eruption of that good medicine can take place every few minutes. It's why we kept the family tradition going after it started to dwindle over the years. We love being together, and like a sparkler ignites and suddenly bursts into a thrilling but short period of fun, we come and play as families, loving every minute before we must carry tired ones to bed.