Love Thy (Noisy) Neighbour.

I got some advice from my mother when we bought our first home 5 years ago. "Make every effort to live in peace with your neighbours. In an emergency, they will be there before the police, ambulance, fire department, family or friends."

Sound advice. But I was quite sure I wouldn't need it.

The moment I moved into my house, I immediately liked my neighbour,Tracey. She was a single mother to three older boys. She was everything that I wasn't. Smart, funny, confident, engaging and perhaps the most practical person I have ever met. I admired her. Soon it became clear that we were more than just neighbours. We were friends.

Tracey and I lived happily alongside each other for four years.Then one day she decided to put her house up for sale. I was devastated. Who could possibly replace her? I wrote my feelings about her moving here

My new neighbours were a young Chinese couple in their thirties called Bill and Helen. They were joined by his parents who came straight from China. An elderly couple who spoke no English whatsoever. They seemed like really nice people. I liked them.

But a few months later everything changed.

My neighbours got a dog. A Golden Labrador. They called their dog Sunday. "Sunday". The very name suggests peace, calm and tranquillity. The dog was anything but that. She barked constantly. She barked loudly. I soon became very irritated with the dog. And with my neighbours.

I started to spend  less and less time talking to them. Gone was the cheery "Good Morning."  Gone was any advice about gardening and lawn maintenance. I no longer lingered on the driveway to chat after we finished grocery shopping. I made the excuse that I was carrying cold items that needed to be kept frozen. Which was partly true. I'd become cold hearted toward them. And freezing them out.

Now there wasn't only a privacy fence between us. There was also an invisible wall.

The emergency situation that my mother told me about happened late in the Spring. I was mowing the lawn and had to adjust the height of the blade. By accident, I placed my hand on the engine, badly burning three fingers of my left hand. My husband was gone for the day with the children and I had no car. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to drive because of the extent of my injuries. I began to panic. I needed help fast. My neighbours!!! But instead of going to Bill and Helen, I bypassed them and went to the next house over. I would like to say it's because I knew Tiziana better (which is true, as our children have played together for years) but we all know that isn't the reason. It was because of the dog. It was because of the wall.

Although I could still hear my neighbours and their dog, I'd built a wall so I didn't have to "see" them.

Early in June I was out one morning watering my garden, when I heard a strange sound. It was a soft and rhythmic sound not loud or annoying in any way. But once I realised it was coming from my next door neighbours, I became irritated by it.

Intrigued as to what was making the noise, I peeked through the slats in the fence, and saw the elderly couple trying to sand the deck by hand with tiny pieces of sandpaper. Their deck is bigger than my deck, and my deck is huge. It was already about 30 degrees in the shade and the forecast promised it would get much hotter. They shouldn't be working like that in this heat. It would take them forever.

I watched them in silence for a few moments, but I knew exactly what I had to do. I ran to my garage and found the electric sander and some medium grain sandpaper. I took it next door and handed it to the old man. I  tried without success to explain to him what it was, but he didn't understand.So, I located the outlet, plugged it in and gave him and his wife a demonstration. I watched their faces change from bewilderment, to confusion, to understanding, to pure unfiltered delight.I will never be able to accurately describe the look on their faces when they realized that I'd handed them a tool that would cut their labour by about 90%. They looked at each other and laughed and laughed saying "Thank you, thank you, thank you." And they bowed. I was completely humbled.

Back in my garden I listened to the all the "noise" coming from my neighbours back yard. I listened to an old couple giggling like school children, having discovered power tools in the sunset of their days. I listened to animated chatter in a language I couldn't understand, but no translation was required. I listened to the electric sander gently humming. And I listened to Sunday barking. But at that moment I was no longer bothered by it. I lifted my garden hose high and to the right, so that it would water their vegetable garden. Then I listened to the sound of the water falling on to the dry earth. These were the sounds of forgiveness.

And there was another sound. A quiet crashing sound. It was the sound of an invisible wall coming down. No one heard it but me.

I would like to say that from that day Sunday became a well trained dog and stopped barking, but that is the stuff of fairy-tales and this is real life. Sunday did continue to bark, but somehow I learned to tolerate it.

I began to see my neighbours for who they were, a sweet, kind, hard working and happy family, who just happened to have a noisy dog. Bill and Helen worked very hard at their jobs and his parents worked hard at home and in their garden. I would see the parents all over my neighbourhood taking the dog for a walk and rummaging around in the recycling bins looking for "treasures."

Last week the old man saw me running. I was running very slowly because I was recovering from surgery. He gestured that he wanted to run with me. So we did. And for around 2km we shuffled along slowly together. We didn't speak, but then again we didn't need to.

Two days ago he gave me the first fruits of their labour from the garden. 5lbs of tomatoes.

But then yesterday a terrible noise came from next door. An awful noise that I never, ever want to hear again. It was a scream, followed by loud hysterical crying. I looked out and saw the police in front of my neighbours house. They had come to deliver the news, that they had just pulled the old man's lifeless body from Bond Lake. He had taken Sunday for a swim and then had a stroke while in the water. He died at 8pm last night.

The crying went on all night.

And so perhaps now I can be to this family in death, what I had failed so miserably to do in life...

...be a good neighbour.

"Love your neighbour as you love yourself." Romans 13: 8-10

Touched by an Angel in Walmart?

My plans for the evening had gone south.

And since I didn't fancy spending the evening with the three people I share living space with and since I also  needed a new can opener, deodorant and a birthday card (in that order) I decided to go to Walmart.

It was only when I pulled into the car park, that it occurred to me I still had my house clothes on. A floral shirt, old jeans and green Christmas socks. What did I look like? But who dresses up to go to Walmart anyway? Oh Lord. I could only hope and pray that :-

a. I wouldn't see anyone in Walmart that I knew.
b. I wouldn't get my photograph secretly taken for  "The People of Walmart"

Have you ever seen "The People of Walmart?" If not click here at your own risk. You were warned!

So this had to be a quick trip. Too bad. I wasn't in a hurry to go back home.

I got the first two items, and then went over to the greeting cards. I spent a few moments browsing, when I  heard a voice..."My, that's a lot you're carrying there." It was an elderly gentleman. Dressed casually but smart. Perhaps in his mid-seventies.

At first I thought he was talking to someone else, but we were the only ones in the aisle. He didn't look crazy, so I assumed  he must be talking to me. But carrying what? I only had two small items in my trolley.

"Excuse me?"

"I was just thinking it looks a little heavy for you to carry"

Was this sarcasm? "What?" Perhaps he was a little crazy.


"Oh..," he said laughing. "...not what's in your basket, I'm talking about what you're carrying on your shoulders. Looks like it's a heavy load".

I was speechless. Was he a mind reader?  How did he know I was worrying in Walmart? Was it that obvious? Written on my forehead? I didn't quite know how to respond.

"I was just going to get a coffee .Care to join me?" he said.

I'm not sure why, but I nodded, dropped the card into my trolley, and walked with him to McDonalds. He ordered a coffee. I ordered an orange juice (and a sandwich of high calorific value - yes I'd already had supper, but it was that kind of day.) And before I could get the money out of my wallet, he thrust a twenty dollar bill into the cashiers hand. He paid. I felt a little guilty, but he was quite insistent.

We sat down and there was no awkward silence. We began talking about the weather. Seriously we did. Just weather. For about 15 minutes. The mild winter. The early spring. The gusting winds this evening. Weather. And yet somehow it was the most refreshing conversation I'd had in a long time.

After a while he got up to leave and we shook hands. Then turning he said... "God has only given you two hands, so don't carry any unnecessary bags."  Then he added with a chuckle... "Especially now they charge you 5 cents for each bag. You take care now."

And then he was gone.

I went to pay for my items plus one more. Some gum. Then I realized... he didn't buy anything!

So what exactly did he come to Walmart for?

Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was just a kind old man with money and time to spare. Maybe he felt sorry for me, because I was dressed like one of the "People of Walmart" and looked like a hobo. Maybe he had Alzheimers and forgot what he came for. Or maybe, just maybe, he was heaven sent for such a time as this. I don't know if he was an angel (the jury is still out on that one), but he was most certainly a blessing in disguise.

I hung around for a while to see if he would come back. He didn't.

I know you can always find a bargain in Walmart, but sometimes you can find more that you bargained for. And in keeping with the logo, his advice saved me money and aimed to help me live a better life. And what did it cost me? Nothing. A mere 15 minutes of my time.

Some of the best things in life are free. Like good advice. So I took it and tried to let go of the the issue that's been bothering me. Hakuna Matata.

Of course I will go back to Walmart.With a better wardrobe choice next time. And you can be sure I'll wander up and down the greeting card aisle. Because well, you never know!





Hebrews 13 v 2 "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels without knowing it"

When Someone Other Than God is Watching

There is a tree-lined public pathway that runs along the southside of my house. I suppose you could call it a shortcut to the main road, Yonge Street. However, I think if you were to time yourself taking the path versus the street, the path probably only saves you seconds rather than minutes.

The public path a few weeks ago

While I will be the first to admit that I use this path often, I find that it is more of an

 inconvenience to me than a convenience.

 For two reasons...

Firstly there are no garbage bins along the path. I  have called the city to request one, but they told me that having a garbage bin would "attract too much garbage". Hmmm... really? Anyhow with no bins, the garbage often ends up being thrown or blown into my backyard.

Secondly, since some of  the city trees overhang my property, it is my responsibility to trim them
back on my side when they become overgrown during the summer
 and rake the leaves when they drop in the fall.

So, I was delighted a few weeks ago when the city works department came along the path and not only trimmed the trees, but pruned them back. To almost nothing. Less yard work for me!

The pubic path today

Last week while I was upstairs cleaning the window in my sons bedroom,  I noticed something. Somethng I'd never noticed before in all the five years I've lived here.
I noticed the view. I could now see the neighbourhood all the way to the main road and beyond. Wow.

I noticed something else too. I found that I could see into some of the rooms of my neighbours house (which is lovely I might add). They seem to have a flair for interior design.

The removal of the city trees had given quite me the vantage point

For a while I stood there checking out the scenery, but then it hit me. Oh no... no, no, NO!

I rushed downstairs and ran out into the backyard.  Once there, I lined up the chairs neatly on the deck. Covered up the empty rabbit hutch with a tarp. Straightened the crooked bird feeder and added some bird seed. Put away the ladder from the pool. Hid the lumber from last years deck project under the stairs by the garage. and returned the boys bats and balls to their rightful home, the toybox. Phew.

So you're probably wondering what initiated the sudden frantic backyard activity. Well I'll tell you. I suddenly became aware of the fact, that if I can see my neighbours house so clearly, then they can also see mine. And if they can see mine, then they will see that this quite ordinary, Contrary Mary doesn't grow a such a great garden after all. Or keep a tidy house. And now the whole neighbourhood knows 

Isn't it funny how we change our behaviour when we think others are watching.
We have to keep up appearances.

Take reality shows for instance. You have to laugh at them. The producers want the stars to "be themselves" and "act normally" in front of the cameras. But we all know they don't. They will either be super nice or behave really badly just to boost the ratings.

And it happens in real life too. We keep ourselves in check when there are people around us.We choose different clothes, put on make up, tidy our homes, edit our words, make different decisions and moderate our behaviour when we're in public. And so we should.

But what if who we are in public, is nothing like who we are in private? What then?

The bible gives some insight. 'Then the Lord said to him, "Now then, you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of wickedness..." (Luke 11;39)

Jesus was referring to the religious leaders who outwardly seemed good and did what was right, but inside their hearts were evil. He tried to teach them that their inner character mattered more to God than their outward appearance.

"The Lord does not look at the things that people look at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. "(1 Samuel 16:7 )

 God is Omipresent and He sees everything all the time. He can see above all the privacy trees,
 but is mostly concerned with the matters of the heart.

He's doesn't care how my deck chairs are lined up, but would like my attitude fall in line with the teachings of Jesus. A crooked birdfeeder is insignifcant compared to a crooked and deceitful heart. I can hide the lumber anywhere, so long as I don't hide from His truth. Do you see where I'm going with this?

This is liberty, at least for me. Most people close to me know I'm no Suzy Homemaker. Things are rarely if ever in place. And nothing matches. I can't keep up. I have lots of friends who have really lovely homes and one day I hope to have one too. But right now the only interior renovation work will be taking place deep within my heart. Where only God is watching.

And in the meantime you will find me walking up and down the public pathway sprinkling
Miracle Gro on the soil and praying this miracle will work.

When you're running... on empty.

Last week I woke up early to take my son to his hockey game. My dad, Ethan and I got into the car to drive to the hockey arena. I pulled out of the driveway and no sooner had I done that, when the low fuel warning light appeared on the dash. Grrr...I hate it when my husband does that!

Although I knew I would pass three gas stations on the way to the arena, I didn't have time to stop, because I was already running late. It was then that I heard the familiar voice of my husband ringing in my head. "Don't worry, you can drive at least 40km with the gas that's in the reserve ".  He always says that to me because he always leaves it empty. But since the arena is only about 10km away I wasn't too worried. I drove straight there promising to get gas on the way home.

After the game, I stopped at the first gas station and pulled up to the pump. I flicked the release button to open the door of the gas tank and... nothing. I tried it again and again nothing. I flicked it over and over. The door would not open. My dad got out to help me, and he couldn't open it either. The two of us tried for about 15 minutes to no avail. We couldn't open the door so we couldn't fill the tank. Unable to get gas at a gas station. Oh the irony.

My car is new so  I decided it would probably be best to take it back to the dealership. Again I heard my husbands familiar (and now very annoying) voice saying "Don't worry, you can drive at least 40km with the gas that's in the reserve". Really? I did some quick mental math and concluded that since I'd only driven about 10km, I could possibly make it to the dealership which was about 25km away. I didn't want to take the risk, but what choice did I have?

What followed next can only be described as some of my worst driving ever. Canada's Worst Driver? At that moment...yes I was. I was so anxious that the car would choke and die if I stopped that I tried my best not to. My husband said it could go for 40km, but how did he know? He'd certainly never tried it. And what if he was wrong?  What if it only did 39km? or 35km? Needless to say I was erratic badly drove Even went through an amber light or two. But don't tell anyone.

At the dealership, the mechanic took approximately one minute to diagnose the problem. He looked at my car and told me there was nothing wrong with it except for the fact that it was frozen. Pouring hot water over the door would've released it. That's it. Frozen. I myself stood frozen for a moment. Feeling stupid.

Why do car mechanics always state the obvious and make me look dumb? DON'T answer that!

As I drove home I thought about how I could've avoided this situation. Carrying extra gas wouldn't have helped me because I couldn't even get into the tank. I knew the secret. It was something my good friend Liz told me.

You see this would never have happened to Liz, for one good reason. Her car is never empty. Ever. Liz keeps the car full and refills it when the tank reaches the halfway mark. She has never seen the low fuel warning light. She doesn't need a low fuel warning light.

Hmmm. A valuable lesson there me thinks. And not just for driving.

I also found that last year when I did my half marathon training clinic, my instuctor Monick would remind us all to "Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate". Two weeks before the race she layed it on really thick. "I don't care if you're thirsty or not....DRINK"

That advice made all the difference for my race. I ran more efficently. I avoided the build up of lactic acid in my legs . And I ran a lot faster. My personal best, shaving a whopping 25 minutes off my time.

But I haven't been applying that principle to my personal life.

Lately I've been feeling dry. Empty. Completely drained. And it's not just the post Christmas blahs or the fact that I'm missing my parents. So why?

I didn't have to think for very long or look very hard for the source of my drought. It lay on my beside table covered in a fine layer of dust. Just when did I last read my bible?

"...but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:14 NIV)

The word of God is a source of living water for me and I haven't been reading it. Hence the thirst. Simple really. Nuff said.

So today I picked it up again. And not just the familiar favourite parts, but something new and fresh. I also started reading Max Lucado's "God's Story, your story".

Ahhh...that's better.

Life can be draining. Very draining. So it's good to be spirtually filled. And keep topping yourself up. Daily.

Because you never know when a situation may arise that keeps your gas door from opening.

And you can only go so far on your reserve.

Arrivals and Departures

I love airports. And many years ago, before having children and 9/11 changed everything, it was my favourite place to go. Twice a month I would drop my husband off at the departure lounge for his business trip, and then I would spend an hour or two checking out the shops. And also watch the people.

The airport is a most fascinating place. I really don't think there is anywhere else quite like it. I mean what hasn't happened at the airport? There's crime, mystery, drama, suspense, and hundreds of people, often in a highly emotional state. I'm sure there's been death and perhaps even an birth or two (although I haven't seen it). It's like an ongoing reality show.

I soon found though, that I preferred to spend more time in arrivals than in departures.

Departures always seemed so sad, So final. People going home, going away, running away, leaving someone, saying goodbye.

But Arrivals...ah, now there's a happy place. The people coming through the gates in the arrival lounge , no matter how tired, or how long a journey, were just so glad to have reached their destination. And then, when they made eye contact and connected with their loved ones, the reunion was inevitably sweet.

So imagine my delight when three weeks ago I got to go to my favourtie place, to meet two of my favourite people. My mom and dad.

My parents were coming to spend Christmas with me. I was so excited about this that for once in my life, I actually arrived half an hour early at the airport. Their flight was delayed by 45 minutes so I had time to kill. Bursting with anticipation I paced up and down. I was way too anxious to read a magazine, so instead I did what I always do in arrivals. I watched the people.

Because I was already brimming with emotion, I shed a tear each time I saw a traveller greeted by family or friends. By the time I saw my parents, I couldn't hold back. The levee burst and I wept openly. It was the most wonderful reunion.

Three weeks later, I made the same journey to the same place. However my experience was remarkably different. I was still very emotional, but this time instead of saying hello,  I was saying goodbye. I was overwhelmed with sadness as I watched my mom being taken through airport security in a wheelchair. This was the hardest goodbye ever.

I miss them so much. Nothing prepared me for the emptiness I feel without them.

But here's the irony. In arrivals I did three things. I hugged my parents, I kissed them and I cried. In departures, again I hugged them, I kissed them and I cried. The same act, in the same place, but the experience was poles apart.

Arrivals and departures are different.

And life is just one long series of arrivals and departures. They are played out every hour of every day. Much like at the airport.

Most of us arrive (are born) into a family where we are expected, anticipated and loved. Upon our arrival there is fanfare and tears of joy and happiness. And when we depart there is a sense of loss and sadness. Tears of grief and sorrow.

And it's not just life and death. Our children arrive in kindergarten and then depart for university, leaving us with aching hearts and an empty nest. Seasons come and go.  So do relationships, pets, events, activites and jobs. A new year has just arrived and in 360 days or so it will depart. Arrivals and departures, comings and goings, to-ing and fro-ing, hatch and dispatch.

We do it all the time, yet still find it hard to say goodbye.

I believe that one of the reasons saying goodbye is so hard, is that we were never meant to.

 "God has placed eternity in the hearts of men..." Eccles 3 vs 11.

Look at all we do to extend our lives a little longer. Diet, exercise, pills, anti-aging lotions and potions. The truth is we just don't want to go. None of us. Ever. And yet one day... we all will.

I like to think that maybe all of these arrivals and departures are somehow preparing us, not for death, but for the afterlife.

I certainly take comfort from the fact that one day there will be a Heaven. Eternal life. No more goodbyes.

As a believer I'm awaiting my final departure.  It will be heralded by the arrival of Jesus. "The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised..." 1 Corin 15 vs 52. But since I don't know when that will be, I guess here is where you will find me. Waiting.

So I suppose I may as well plan another departure. But it won't be a sad one. I'm looking forward to the day when I can go to Lester B. Pearson airport departure lounge, to take an outbound flight YYZ to MAN. And when I land 7 hours later, I'll see the faces of my mom and dad waiting for me in arrivals.

I can hardly wait.

sometimes you have to stop running...away

sometimes you have to stop running

i injured my right knee. i'm not even sure how or when. one day i just felt a slight twinge. nothing serious. so i kept running.

the twinge became a dull ache. i felt it whenever i would stop running. i ignored it and kept running.

the ache became a a low grade pain. sometimes i felt it while i was running. it would subside after about half an hour, so i kept running.

soon it just started to hurt. i tried slowing down my pace. i tried different stretches. i tried everything i could think of. but i didn't stop running.

now my knee hurts. really hurts. all the time.

i'm doing physiotherapy and R.I.C.E (rest, ice, compression and elevation)

and i've stopped running

because sometimes you have to stop running.

during this enforced hiatus, i've had lots of time to reflect.

i've been reflecting on my other favourite sport. running away.

an old problem has resurfaced. resurfaced, because i didn't deal with it the first time, or even the second time, or...

just as i did with my knee injury, i kept running.

but you can't run with pain.  and you can't run away from pain.

sometimes you have to stop running.

so now?

R.I.C.E.

Rest, reflect and resolve to deal with it
Isolate the issue and get to the root of it
Confront it. face to face. confess my weakness to God.
Emancipate. break free and experience true liberty

pain is a good indicator that something is wrong. either in your body or in your life. you can only run with pain for so long. sometimes you just have to face up to it and deal with it. i guess this is one of those sometimes.

because sometimes you have to stop running...

away.

Running...The View From (Back) Here.

Today was the worst running day ever.

Sometimes with running, as with anything else in life, you can just inexplicably have a really bad day. Today was one of those sometimes.

As a runner, you can only hope that the aforementioned bad day will happen during training and not on race day. Today was race day.

Today was not an important race. I wasn't trying to qualify for Boston. It was just a local charity race, that I was going to enjoy with Kristi and Elizabeth, two friends who run the same pace as I do. Today should've been a perfect day. I was trained, rested and hydrated. And 15km is my favourite distance. It should've been easy, a no brainer, a cake walk, a walk in the park. It should've been... but it wasn't. Today was anything but easy.

I knew from the get go, that I wasn't going to have a good race, but since it always takes me 5km to convince my body to actually come running with me, I thought I'd eventually just find my groove. But that didn't happen today. I struggled to get to 1km, was falling behind by 2km, and at 3km, I told Kristi and Elizabeth to go ahead without me. They didn't want to leave me behind, but I was holding them back. They suggested that perhaps I turn around and just do the 5km race. No. I wasn't going to do that. My bib said I was running 15km, so that was what I was going to do. Quitting wasn't an option. Neither was walking. I was just going to have to run slowly. Very slowly.

I watched my friends pull ahead and away from me. They kept turning around to see if I was okay. But at around 4km, they disappeared around a bend. I knew I couldn't catch them. My race was over. So I made the shift in my head...this was no longer a race...it was just a run. Time was no longer going to be a factor. There wasn't going to be any chest bumping, fist pumping, personal best success story for me when I got to the finish line. Not today.

I had to change my goal. My new goal was just to finish the race...however long it took.

Dozens of people started to pass me. People who I never normally see. I don't usually see them, because I'm so far ahead of them. Today I got to see what they always see. I got to see the backs of all the other runners.

I soon began to realize, that for some people this is what every race looks like. Every km marker seems like it's located 10 miles away and every hill feels like climbing Everest. Yes, I was struggling today, but some of these runners struggle every single day.

The overweight runners, the older runners, the runners with disabilities or chronic illness, the ones with issues and addictions. And all the runners who are just plain slow. Here I was running alongside them. And some of them were passing me.  

Although I was losing time, I was starting to gain something. Perspective.

Because time no longer factored into my race run,  I was able to talk to the elderly gentleman in his 70's who shuffled along. I was able to chat with an overweight woman who'd already lost about 100lbs. I was able to hug the last woman runner at the turnaround and tell her to keep going. And I was able to run the last km with a woman who had knee trouble.

I saw some extraordinary ordinary people at the back of the race. And I felt priviledged to run with some of them. They are the unseen winners at every single race. And I usually miss them while I'm up ahead. They don't fly around the course in record time. They never make it to the podium. They simply compete to complete.They just want to finish. 

Today will go not go down in my record books as one I can brag about. But if you really want to see my race stats, you can view them here

Today I was at the back of the race. I hope I don't have to be there again, but it was okay to be there, at least just for today. 

Today was just about getting to the finish line. I did that. And in doing that, I met some inspiring people along the way. So I guess it wasn't such a bad day at the races after all.

Catching up with Elizabeth and Kristi at the all important finish line!

The Foot Files, from Sole to Soul: A Mile In My Shoes.

I saw this picture on a blog this week and it literally caused me to stop in my tracks.

You see I'm a little bit of a complainer. I just didn't realise how much I complained. And all of this complaining in one week. And all of this complaining about shoes.

First, I complained about the pile of shoes that greet me every morning when I come downstairs and everytime I walk through the front door of my home. Hardly inviting is it?

Welcome to the Spalls...

Secondly, I got all upset because my son needed a shoebox for a diorama project at school. Of the four shoe boxes I had at home, none were suitable so I had to modify one (it took a pair of scissors, some glue and approximately 5 minutes of my day, but boy did I complain about it!)

Then, I was irritated at the fact that I've worn a hole in my favourite pair of black flats and can't find anything even  remotely close to being as comfortable or as cute as these shoes are.

Loved these shoes...wished I bought two pairs.

Then, my son came to the mall with me (for Mother's Day) and spent his time at the Apple Store, while I walked around and around  looking for shoes by myself (Happy Mother's Day Elaine!!!)

To make matters worse, I left the mall without any shoes because, out of the two pairs I actually liked,  I couldn't decide which ones to buy.

I'm also still a bit upset that I haven't been able to wear my running shoes that I got for Christmas, because it's been too wet and rainy and I don't want them to get muddy.

I just know my new shoes will make me faster...

I'm running the Mississaua Half Marathon next weekend and I'm trying for a personal best and my old shoes sometimes give me shin splints. Have you ever tried running 13 miles with shin splints?

Whine whine whine...complain complain complain...

STOP

Then I remembered the picture. I wonder how much she complains...

I wonder if she complains about all the "shoes" littering the dirt floor of her home?

I wonder if she has anything of value. Would it even fit into four shoeboxes. One box?

I wonder what choice she has when she wears a hole in her favourite shoes? Does she go barefoot?

I wonder which pair of "shoes" would look cuter on her feet. Dasani or Aquafina?

I wonder if she worries about getting mud on her shoes?

I wonder what's her personal best time shuffling around in those shoes trying to get food or water for her family?

Silence

. Sometimes there are no words.

All I can do is offer up a tearful prayer for a faceless, shoeless, perhaps even homeless woman. I ask that God will send someone along to bless her from the top of her head, to the soles of her feet. And also I say a prayer of thankfulness. I thank God that I don't have to walk or run a mile in her shoes.








For more on the Foot Files click here

You Would

                                       you would, i know you
                                       would. do it all again if
                                       you had to, you would.
        allow yourself to be nailed to a cross, there, to be a sacrifice for all
        mankind. to give us new life JESUS, you suffered in pain and agony
        and would i stand by? deny? once, twice, thrice, the price too high?     
                                       i would like to think that
                                       perhaps i would stay by
                                       your side, but, in truth i
                                       would run and hide. i'd
                                       flow with the tide of the
                                       ones who cried, crucify.
                                       so here now, i come to
                                       bow, and remember all
                                       that you've done on the
                                       cross, knowing that you
                                       would do it all again for
                                       me. i know, you would.

                 View my animated Easter poem here                              

Holy Cr*p. A Lesson from 1 John.

 There are four people in my house. There are four bathrooms in my house.

All things being equal, you would think there would never be an issue with having a bathroom to use. You would think....

Let me explain. Bathroom #4 is located downstairs in the basement. No one is allowed to use this bathroom, except my parents, when they're visiting from England. Bathroom #3 is on the main floor. It's a powder room, used primarily by my sons and their friends when they come over to play. Caution... adults, use at your own risk! Bathroom #2 is my en-suite bathroom, but since there is no shower in there, and I prefer showers, I rarely use it. That leaves bathroom #1. It's supposed to be the "little boys" room, but in reality, it's a family bathroom. We all use it. All the time. And during rush hour, it's like Grand Central Station complete with traffic, chaos and line-ups. I call it the #1 John or 1 John.

It seems strange then, that the bathroom would be the place to go for some alone time. 

Somedays I need to escape from the Aspergers in my family. Today was one of those somedays. And since a week long cruise alone in the Bahamas wasn't an option. I went to the bathroom. I went to the bathroom, because no matter what, people will generally leave me alone in there .And I wanted needed to be alone. The "emergency" situation that had been brewing (and believe me when I say that it wasn't a real emergency) would just have to wait. Outside the bathroom.

Once inside, I had a good look around. It was untidy and unclean. On the mirror: toothpaste splashes, water marks, finger prints and my sons hair. On the counter: handprints, toothpaste, lotions, potions (all without lids) soap residue in the sink and my son's hair. On the floor: towels, dust, my sons hair. The toilet? Well, with three guys, it's pretty hit and miss. You get the idea.
One look at 1 John and I had a sinking feeling. The bathroom was such a reflection of the state of my own life. Obviously I wasn't keeping up with the housekeeping. But it wasn't just the housekeeping, I wasn't really keeping up with anything. Aspbergers, parenting, bible study, running, writing, cooking, cleaning. In all these things, even with my very best effort, I was still falling well below average. I felt overwhelmed. I felt like I wanted to cry. Then I heard an audible voice...

"Kneel"

"What here?"

"Yes"

"No!"

"Yes"

"But I don't want to"

"Yes"

"But it's dirty"

"Yes"

So I knelt...on the bathroom floor.

For a long time I was quiet. But then, as I knelt there, in the filth of my (our) own making, something lovely happened. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. Quite the contrary. I started to laugh. Not just a chuckle or a giggle, but a full out, a few decimals louder than what is considered polite or normal, near hysterical laugh. For a long time.

I laughed because I was "purging" myself by laughter in the bathroom
I laughed because I was before the "throne" talking to God
I laughed because our bathroom, the place we go to get clean, is the dirtiest room in the house.
I laughed because I was getting a good inner cleansing in the bathroom. No soap or water required.
I laughed because being below average is an act of humble Christian service. People like me make the above average look so much better.
I laughed because I'll only ever be below average. And I'm cool with that.
I laughed because I was suddenly filled with an uncontrollable, overwhelming joy
I laughed because God just proved He will meet you... anytime, anyplace, anywhere.

I felt clean and refreshed.

"Are you okay" the voice waiting outside inquired?

I got up, unlocked the door and said "Yes, I'm fine"

I was about to give him a hug when he said...

"You didn't flush."

"That's right, I didn't" I said flushing a toilet that I hadn't used.

I went to try and  hug him a second time

"You didn't wash your hands either."

"Right!"

So, I washed my hands, which were already clean.

 I smiled.

I returned to the bathroom a while later, with a note. I posted it on the mirror. I call it my new "scripture." Don't bother looking for it in your bible. It isn't there, because it doesn't exist. It's just my own little reminder. It reads... 1 John (my bathroom) 10:4 (April 10th...today's date.) "Never forget the cleansing that took place in here."

I won't.

I made a note to leave a bible in the top drawer...just in case. And put my jeans in the laundry. Hot cycle.

I also cleaned the bathroom.

At bedtime, the children saw the note. Thinking it was referring to their (sometimes questionable) hygiene, they worked harder at brushing their teeth before bed. My husband saw it and thought it referred to how I'd cleaned  the bathroom. He left it cleaner than he found it. Guess we all got a little cleansing today. And so did 1 John!