February Felicity

Wake up to a new snowfall, heavy with moisture, coating every tiny twig of city trees with white icing.  In this moment, relish the beauty before it melts again into messy slush. Ride through the day with wonder.

Gear up for more basement renovation. Put on thick old running shoes to shield against spiky carpet tacks.  Wear a face-mask to filter out filthy, flying dust from the old carpet.  Smile at the memory of Ephesians 6, “armour of God” and  “feet shod with the good news of peace”. Savour the metaphor.

Welcome the plumber who’s plugging an old floor drain.  Ignore the unexpected cost and mess. Share the joy of grandchildren.

Honour a Christmas amaryllis bulb that has persisted in its slow journey into two tall, rigid, lime-green stems and seven huge trumpet blossoms striped scarlet and cream. The ridiculous miracle blares testimony like a streetcorner preacher.

Enjoy soup in a corner Grill. Five women and a baby girl escape the cringing cold winter evening – bowls of egg drop, wontons, mushrooms – casual conversation about prayer. 

Deal with someone's belligerent defensiveness. Rant to friends, analyse, read wise texts, sit in silence. Be surprised by peace and new perspective. Some boundaries are necessary; others can be dismantled. When Love wins, no one loses.

Settle into the wooden pew of a gaudy, yellow brick sanctuary. Eyes closed, listen to soulful acoustic-electric guitar in a minor key. Give thanks for wine and bread. Muse on sacrifice and community, past and present, divine and human.

Sink into a soft bed, relaxing muscles, sighing out tension. Give thanks for comfort and safety. Pray for those without. Leave tomorrow to itself.

Weird. I'm giving up Lent for Lent

 I grew up in a bare bones church, as puritan as they come. 

Although we celebrated communion every week and held occasional dramatic baptisms by immersion, there were no other mystical rituals. Our worship focussed on the written word, read, spoken, prayed, sung and preached. Nature, the human body, and the arts were mostly ignored. Even as a little girl, my starved imagination yearned toward those exotic Catholic churches with their red glass candle-holders and spooky statues. 

In adulthood, I converted to feminism, so I was not tempted by the Roman rite, but found, instead, a home in Anglican worship. There is comfort, both physical and spiritual, in the routines of kneeling on special benches, reciting unison responses, and standing to honour the Gospel reading. Community and meaning are heightened by these actions. Traditional church seasons like Advent, Pentecost, and Lent enrich the intangible sense of connection with generations long gone. 

I enjoy attending services where the Holy Spirit candle hangs glowing from the rafters, the strong smell of incense fills the air and tiny bells chime. Some congregants bow and cross themselves. There can be a shivery feeling of reverence.

Although Christian faith respects the intellect as God-given, life's humbling experiences teach us to submit to Mystery, even as our confidence in a loving Creator can deepen. In contrast to systematic theologies, the strange rituals of praxis mirror the "otherness" of the One we call God. These suprarational alternatives can feed our spirit when preaching and study group analysis dissipate joy.

But then there’s that priest who played soulful music, bowed low to painted icons, and incensed enthusiastically in the moody, darkened sanctuary right up until the day he ditched his wife and disappeared with the church secretary.

Well, now. 

On the other hand...

sometimes our sensual delight in ritual becomes itself an idol. Delicious aesthetics trump private disciplines of confession and self-denial. Personally, I’d way rather walk around with oily ashes on my forehead than give a welcoming smile to someone who’s interrupting my day's agenda. Let me light another candle instead of trying to listen patiently to that droning committee colleague. 

Don’t misunderstand; I could not denigrate inspired devices like icons or labyrinth walking. They are sacred to me. 

However, this year I surprised myself by skipping the Ash Wednesday service. I have no plans for 40 days of ritualistic abstinence. So far, I’m reading the bible book of 1 John, caulking gaps around the new basement ceiling, and trusting that the Holy Spirit of God will continue Her merciful, catch-you-off-guard tutorial.

Happy Valentine's Day!

No matter [what], 

if I have no love in me, 

I am nothing.

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

Love does not envy.

Love does not boast.

Love is not proud.

Love does not dishonour others.

Love is not self-seeking.

Love is not easily angered.

Love keeps no records of wrong.

Love does not delight in evil, 

but rejoices with the truth.

Love always protects.

Love always trusts.

Love always hopes

Love always perseveres.

On Valentine's Day, and every day, may you live in God's love!

Happy Sights and a Puzzle

Stopped at a red light, I watched a troop of school children, bundled in parkas, cross the street, hunched against the blowing snow, each one carrying a pair of skates. Classic Canadiana made me smile.

On another winter day while driving north I noticed a scene worth painting. In the distance stood a grove of leafless saplings backed by a darkening grey sky. In the foreground, the low winter sun behind me was spotlighting one small oak tree, its raggedy bronze leaves bravely waving. Beautiful.

At a stop sign I waited for a woman to cross on a windy day and had to laugh out loud. She had no idea that her thickly wrapped ponytail was being blown from behind up into a curve over her head so that she looked like a unicorn in the gusty gale. 

On my way to the car after shopping, I was scanning the sky over the grocery store parking lot. Where two power lines were strung, one just above the other, two rows of birds huddled together, crowded so tightly that the lower tier seemed to be ducking their heads. They looked like football fans in a sold-out stadium. Made me grin.

Meeting my brother for lunch at an unfamiliar mall I enter the nearest door and found myself in one of those clothing stores designed for teenage girls without much money. I had to walk right through to get to the mall hallway and it felt like I was in a spring garden. Displayed on the walls were peach-coloured shirts overlaid with jewelled netting and lime green leggings splashed with red roses. Racks held orange jeans, lavender skirts and turquoise underwear embroidered with daisies. Shelves offered sparkling silver lame running shoes and bright yellow purses. As long as I didn’t think of sweatshops and landfills, it was surprisingly pretty.

One chilly day I walked past a tiny toddler padded from top to bottom in a blue plaid snowsuit shuffling her way across the daycare playground, to join her friends lining up at the door. She looked like a baby robot. Just darling.

Early on a cold February Sunday, the sun was up, the air still, the neighbourhood quiet. I heard sparrows and a cardinal singing gaily and wondered, how do birds’ scrawny little feet not freeze solid and drop off overnight? Call it Nature or call it Creation, it’s a miracle to me. 

Endless Renovation

By the time I staggered out of bed, the sun had risen. The reluctance I’d felt toward the day while lying in my darkened bedroom magically dissipated in the bright sunshine. I was struck by the profound effects of light. 

Light is on my mind because of our ongoing house renovation. When the main electrical work was complete, I noticed pretty new patterns of light and shadow and more comfy corners that were bright enough for reading or doing crossword puzzles.

We’ve added recessed lighting in kitchen and living room, as well as a vanity light fixture above the bathroom mirror. I was appreciating our new toys, dimmer switches and all, until I noticed something I should have foreseen.

The better the light, the better one can see… EVERYTHING! 

My “vanity” light, for instance, shows me all the reasons I have for humility. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror I can clearly see thinning hair, drooping jowls, deep wrinkles, dark blotches, rogue whiskers, a sagging neck … okay, somebody stop me.

The new fixture also reveals the grubbiness of the tile grouting and the permanent stains on our aged bathtub.

Under brighter living room ceiling lights, every table and lamp displays a skim coat of dust, even five minutes after I clean. Newly visible are all the scuffs and chips on painted trim work. The kitchen pot-lights expose a layer of grime on the stove’s dials, the spice shelf, etc. 
Mercy! Hit the dimmers! 

The mixed blessings of brighter lighting made me think. As my blog title shows, I try to focus on the sparkling aspects of life – the beauty, compassion, humour and wisdom in every day. It’s joyous to know that Jesus was called the Light of the World, and that in God’s loving light, every human being appears as a wondrous and cherished creation. 

However, the new lights also remind me of a less enticing part of spiritual illumination. God’s Spirit reveals dirt just the way my fancy fixtures do. If we’re open to Christ's offer of personal renovation, over time the Spirit gradually turns up the dimmer so that bit by bit we can see our own grubbiness. 

You know what I mean. We think we’re humble until one day we realize that we still resent that person who corrected us in public. We think we’re forgiving until we realize that we scorned someone who failed in a way that we have never failed. We think we’re kind until we realize that we were annoyed when we offered a coffee to a guy on the street and he swore at us. We think we care about the world’s children until we realize we had revenge fantasies about that kid who made our daughter cry.

It is awesome how carefully the Light of the World exposes to us our shameful failures, the cobwebs in our thinking, the parts of our lives we find too comfortable to need changing. S/He never makes us feel unloved or stupid, but gently reveals the real state of affairs: we are wondrous and beloved and yet petty and ego-driven. God’s steady beam shows that we can be freed from self-hatred, judgment, envy, greed, and the rest.The best part is that once we give the go-ahead for the reno, S/He does most of the heavy lifting.

As Simone Weil wrote,  “Love is not consolation. It is light.” 

Exaltation

Attend.

The giants are dancing at daybreak. 

Spire-tall fir trees bow before an invincible windstorm, their solid wood trunks flexing at the gale’s command. 

Whipping winter branches are choreographed by coercion.

The rooted dancers bend low and spring erect, waving with irresistable reverence.

Icy bits of snow whirl through the frigid air like dervishes, abandoned to their swoops and spirals. 

Swinging on a precarious tether, wind-chimes jingle in ecstasy: "Joy, joy, joy!” 

Pearly clouds, limned by dawn with gold, hang like art in the high blue sky.  

In crescendo our white-hot star appears above the horizon, blinding any defiant human eye. Its fundamental light decrees another day of wild risk. 

Oh, Mystery. Oh, glory.

Listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9scMv45bkQ 

Stress in the Mess

It didn’t seem like such a big deal to take down the original acoustic ceiling tiles in the basement ceiling and hire electricians to replace our bungalow’s knob and tube wiring according to current (!) standards. When we began the preparation, I was amused by my costume of a dust mask, goggles and ball cap (don’t scare the horses). It was fun ripping out dozens of nails with a crowbar, pretending I was young and strong…until I moaned, “Okay. I’m done” and left my husband to do more than his share of the labour.

We collected estimates (web-search, emails, appointments made, cancelled and re-booked) and settled on a company owned by a good-natured young Master Electrician. Although the trappings of Christmas hadn’t even been packed away, the work began shortly after New Year’s Day.

As everyone knows, once you start even the smallest of house renovations, a troop of problems…I mean "possibilities"… pops up. We couldn’t leave the work site for long because, especially with an old house, frequent decisions have to be made on the spur of the moment. 

Wasn’t that supposed to be a dimmer switch? Is that outlet plate crooked? Are we planning to drywall there? Should this ceiling fixture be replaced? How little electricity do we need for surviving overnight? Wait – the bathroom has no lights –catch the truck before they leave!

By the third day, there were six young men hard at work throughout the house, clomping around in work boots and tool belts. The way their clothes and hands shed dirt reminds me of PigPen in Peanuts. 

Furniture, from a baby grand piano to wastebaskets had to be piled in the centre of each room so that wall outlets were accessible. Drop-cloths covering the floors were soon littered with bits of wallboard, screws and sawdust. 
I kept flinging bed sheets over bookshelves and dressers, fearing a nightmare of dusting and damp-wiping our forty years worth of vases, candle-holders and books. Before I could get to a room, favourite art pieces got shoved into corners, or single switches were installed where two were supposed to go. 
The air filled with clouds of dust and the buzz of electric drills as we stepped over gigantic spools of wire and connected our own extension cords so that we could make tea or use our desktop computer. 
At one point there was exactly one useable chair in the building. There I sat, trying to read Lauren Winner’s new book while I waited for the next consultation and counted the minutes until the gang would leave for the day.

Stressful. 

My husband and I both have noticed unusual fatigue and tension in our bodies. Our minds spin with aspects of the project and new questions we need to ask. We have little energy for any optional errands or events. We’re feeling the effects of stress.

For once we’d had the sense to think ahead about the personal/spiritual challenges of starting the construction project. We knew we’d better find the kind of light that doesn’t depend on electricity. As the days went by, we talked to each other and we talked to God. We prayed for patience and self-control in our interaction with our workers. We asked for a kind and compassionate attitude as well as the strength and wisdom to stand firm for fair business practice. 

We relieved some of our stress by going out for yummy food, taking a brisk walk in the winter sun, and watching DVD’s on the laptop instead of our disconnected TV. 

We reminded ourselves that only the wealthy in this world have the luxury of renovation frustration like ours. We listed some of the many reasons we have to be thankful and thought about what really matters in life. 

Despite the feelings of stress, so far we haven’t said anything we regret, and have had cheerful conversations with the electrical crew. No panic at miscommunications; no breakdowns over the chaos and dirt (well, hardly any). We wish we were spiritual superstars, filled with a peace that leaves no room for negative stress, but…

If, on occasion, you feel as wimpy as we do when it comes to ordinary stressors like home improvement, we recommend turning toward the light. 
Christ's promise applies to things minor and major:
I am the light of the world. 
Anyone who follows me 
will never walk in the darkness
but will have the light of life.