E to Grade 3!


My favourite food is: “Pizza”

My favourite colour: “turquoise”

My favourite toy: “stuffies”.

My favorite TV Show: “AFV”.

My favourite movie: “Nacho Libre”

My favourite thing to do outside: “Explore”

My best friend: “Leah Aylard”

The coolest person in the world is: “You guys”

My favourite sport is: “Highland dancing and swimming”

My favourite animal: “DOGS”

My favourite thing to do with daddy: “Going on daddy daughter dates.”

My favourite thing to do with mommy: “Mommy daughter dates”

My favourite place to go: “Marble Point”

When I grow up I want to be: “A song writer and an artist”

My favorite snack is: “Cheetos”

I LOVE to…”Go quadding”

My favourite thing about me is… “My personality and my brains”

This year I want to…”Learn how to handwrite”


O to Grade 5!


An interview with O on the first day of grade FIVE

My favourite food is: “Sushi especially dynamite roles”

My favourite colour: “Orange”

My favourite toy: “Hammock”.

My favourite TV Show: “Looney Toons”.

My favorite movie: “Nacho Libre”

My favorite thing to do outside: “Either relax in my hammock or go in the hot tub”

My best friend: “Emily”

The coolest person in the world is: “Emily”

My favourite sport is: “BASEBALL. It is the best thing that ever happened to me”

My favourite animal: “Blue ringed octopus”

My favourite thing to do with daddy: “Quad and play baseball”

My favourite thing to do with mommy: “Hang out in hot tub and going on mother son dates”

Favourite place to go: “Marble Point”

When I grow up I want to be: “A pastor”

My favourite snack is: “Peanut butter and crackers”

I LOVE to…”go to marble point”

My favourite thing about me is…”How I have improved in pitching”

This year I want to…”Not be inappropriate at school”


The Stories They Tell

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don’t imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try.

-Marilynne Robinson, “Gilead”


I can’t get this idea out of my head. I don’t know that this is good theology, but I also don’t know that it isn’t. I mean, all this will not just be forgotten on the other side, will it? And so what will the tale they tell about me be? How will I be Helen of Troy? It isn’t hard to seduce a man, but it is very hard to enchant him, to hold him, to trigger an epic battle for the heart.

It depends if you read Homer or Faust about what happens for Helen. Was she filled with remorse? Did she revel in the deaths? I wonder what tales they will tell of me? Will I be one who bent the arch of justice in the right direction? Was I one who instigated peace? What stories will they recite of me on those golden streets?

I am not much of a heroine; my audience is small and I do not lead a movement, but that is not the point. For all my writing about our Great Purpose, I hope you always know a great purpose does not mean a great achievement or a great audience. You can lead an extraordinary life between four walls. You can have only an audience of One and still live a life of epic goodness, extreme gentleness, total peace.

I read once about a man who called his wife a saint. He said he did not know anyone better. Imagine that. To me that seems like a story you should listen to. A spouse who has seen you at your worst and yet still believes you to be a saint?

Will he say of me that I upheld him? That I, as he headed up his armies, made him stronger, braver, more able? Or will he say my selfishness hindered him? Will my children say that I prepared them and released them for good fights and love? For holy mischief and our own brand of anarchy? Will the small battles I fight reflect a tale of courage and grace?

When someday I become a myth -either on this earth or the far off one – what tales will they tell of me? I am not asking for the fickle applause of man. I am asking to be aligned with the mythology of heaven. God…let me join your story.


Let’s dance

(I turned 38 last week. And I always journal my way through a prayer and a hope, a marker for the year to come. This year? Let’s dance…)

No, but really, let’s dance.

Oh my Jesus let’s dance…

Set my feet to the rhythm of grace and the anthems of freedom. Let me move with intention, by your spirit, take every lead. Help me learn to step less often on your toes.

Appoint me to be the love song and rush these feet to justice. Let me move and step lightly. Move these hands to the melodies of mercy. A living, breathing, dancing poem in this dark world.

Help me to join in creation with the trees clapping their hands and let me raise my own in worship. Help me not miss a moment to give you all the glory. Never let my dancing for you detract from you; let me always be helping people to see you…the joy you released in me. The freedom you gave me. The passion you always stir.

Oh Jesus….and when the dirge plays and some among us are mourning let  me sway even still and hold tightly to the hope I profess. Rock these hips like a lullaby and help me to be your messenger to remind the world that in the end the monsters will not win.

Teach me also, to rejoice with those rejoicing. And when they call me undignified, let me be even more undignified for your glory.  You deserve all my praise.

Oh God. On the terracotta tile of my kitchen and the industrial carpets of my work, in the street and in the church. Oh God move my body and stir my heart to the movement of your spirit, don’t let me miss a single prompt.

Oh Jesus, give me the depths and breadth of my very own life.

38…Let’s dance.








To watch you bloom


I am the sort of woman who mourns the end of the balsam arrowroot season. And who, is already sad about the lupines dying (though they will not bloom here for two weeks at least). The season for those yellow wildflowers this year was exceptional…every hillside of the valley was covered in them.

I can’t help but think about you as I see those flowers fade. How much impact those flowers had on me as they brightened up each day, as I pulled over to take photos of the sun setting on them. How much more do you matter to this planet? Your short and sweet life…it matters to us.

The energy in every room shifts when you walk in. We sense you. For better or for worse we know you are here. You are impacting every space you inhabit…what is it you are bringing to the table? What joy? What peace? What love? What encouragement and grace are you responsible for? How will you bless? What is your everyday contribution to your space and place? What of the Kingdom come are you responsible for?

A friend said to me recently, “I need a shirt that says, It is what it is” and I said NO! It is what we bring to it!

I know we can’t control everything. Oh I know. But we do get to control what we bring to it, what we take from it, how we perceive it, how we manage it, what we let ‘it’ do to us.


I have been tracing the lines of my sons hands lately, tracing his character as it develops. I want to know the depth of him so that as he enters his teens I can remind him of every good thing I know. I will teach him the impact of his courage, his kindness, his words and his love. I will remind him of his opposite potential also…how we are always growing towards one or the other.

Oh… my gorgeous wildflower…I love to watch you bloom.



Once a week we do not set an alarm. And on these days I wake to dappled sunlight warming our duvet cover. This morning I just stayed there, stretched my tired body out further. I went to the porch, read some poetry, climbed into the hot tub. It is 9:30 now…the kids are still asleep.

Sabbath rest is meant for us.

Last night my boy hit ‘the wall’. Four baseball games in a week plus school will do that to a profound introvert. He paced and hid and shouted “I just need alone time”. He reminds me always. He taught me how to rest. He helped me to see when we need it. He showed me my sin of rush and agenda and output. He is still my thermometer. He tells me when the water in our heads is getting too hot.


This week I was in well over my head. But the way I figure it…this is how we learn to swim. So swim I did and I kept my head mostly just above water. I know you are sure there is someone more equipped and better than you for the dream or vision in your heart. But it doesn’t matter. You were called for such a time as this, to such a place as your miraculously ordinary HERE. And so we step in, we serve to the best of our capacity.

And then…when you have done your good work, served the city to which you were called, loved with every inch of yourself;

You rest. You settle in with the peace that surpasses and you trust that there is nothing more required of you.


You are built for rest…it is as necessary for you as oxygen and water. Find your sacred rhythm and keep it…

Home looks like this…


Did you know the chorus frogs stop singing by two in the morning? They do. We listened last night. They chant and shake the silence out of our mountain every pinky dusk but when the dark comes it seems they hush.

One child was sick and coughed the other one awake last night. She snuck upstairs with me. We watched the clouds slip across the nearly full moon. I asked her how she would explain it to someone who was blind. She told me it was like a piece of silk falling off of a light bulb. Yes.

The child has perfectly round cheeks have you noticed? And just now, when you kiss her, you can cover the whole thing. My lips were built to kiss her face. My darling.

This time of year, our mallards return. They move from the small collections of water around our place. From one side of the road to the other. Always just the two of them.

There is a pair of crows that sit atop the dead tree by the mailbox. They are the sentinels waiting to call the others when there is something rotting…or it is garbage day. They always seem to know when the trash is out. There is a great grey owl who hunts from our fencepost.

2016-04-15-08.58.18-1.jpg.jpegThey are all home here too.

We had record-breaking heat this week and then rain fell and we know what our mountain smells like now when she breathes a sigh of relief.

Emily drew a picture of our house and it is so Suessical the way that house is perched so precariously on a mountain top. How every house was perched on its own magic hill. I can’t help thinking about it constantly. It is the perfect metaphor for the life we are building…the fine balance of building a home that shapes them, but of also blowing open the doors of our life to pour out our blessings. To know and remember that all of it is gift. And all of it…all of us…meant to be poured out again and again.

What are the ways that the home we make is shaping their hearts? How am I teaching them to yearn for Holy Wholeness…To break for all the broken?