We Need to Talk About This Dark Secret

We need to talk.

We need to talk because I’m pissed off, sick, and sad.

About a week ago, I first heard about Canada’s unearthed tragedy.   I’ve been processing it, grieving it, and researching it ever since.

The remains of 215 children were discovered in a mass, unmarked grave on the grounds of a former residential school in BC. 

I’m sure you’ve read or heard about this news, but can we just let the horror of it sink in for a minute?

The remains –

The remains of CHILDREN –

The remains of children in a MASS, UNMARKED grave…

These are words and these are realities that should never be strung together.  These are words and realities that make me feel sick and deeply deeply sad. 

I hope you feel the same way.

I hope you are upset, sickened, and disturbed. 

The remains of these children were found buried on the grounds of a residential school and the more I learn about these schools, the more I realize they are a macabre part of Canada’s dirty, dark, sinister past. 

                                       Former Kamloops Indian Residential School.  (Photo credit:  BBC Canada)

Residential schools were established to forcibly convert Indigenous youth to Catholicism or Protestantism as well as assimilate them into what the European settlers were deciding was Canadian language, culture, and customs.  The ultimate goal was to “kill the Indian” in every child.  The schools were federally funded and church directed.  They operated from 1831 - 1996. 

                                            (photo credit National Post)

I was attending school during those last years.  I graduated from High School in 1996, but the teaching techniques at my school were nothing like those used at the residential schools. 

Children attending the residential schools were forcibly removed from their families and everything that was familiar.  They endured beatings, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and rape.   According to the Department of Indian Affairs (1907 report), 90-100% of children suffered physical, emotional, or sexual abuse and there was a 40-60% mortality rate.

Now, my school had the strap hanging in the principal’s office where it hung ready to smack any errant student.  I even remember being slapped full across the face by a teacher in front of my entire class, but our school NEVER ever had a mortality rate. 

And the more I learn about these residential schools, the more I realize how much I DON’T KNOW.  I did NOT learn about the residential schools and their attempts at Indigenous cultural genocide.  I was too busy going to my private, Christian school where I was allowed to maintain any custom carried over from my dutch motherland.   No one took me away from my parents, beat me, sexually assaulted me, despised me or tried to “kill the Dutch” in me.

I asked my husband if he remembers learning about the residential schools.  He did not.  His first exposure was through the 2016 album released by The Tragically Hip called “The Secret Path”, a 10-song album dedicated to the story of Chanie Wenjack, a 12 year old Anishinaabe boy who had run away from a residential school in 1969 in Kenora, Ontario.  Chanie died attempting to walk the 600km home. 

                                                    (photo credit:  amazon.ca)

I asked several friends if they learned about the residential schools.  One remembered two short paragraphs in a thick history tome.   That’s it.

My son, however, knew about the schools.  “We learned about them in our history class last year,” he told me.  I threw up my hands and rejoiced.  Good! 

WE NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS.

In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” 

Let’s not be part of the danger or part of the problem. 

Let’s not be ignorant any longer. 

In light of this, I will be dedicating several days to researching, educating, and calling myself (and you, if you want to join me) to action.

My friends, let’s keep talking.

#womenencouragers #nomoreignorance #residentialschools #grievingourpast

#letstalk

From Languish to Lavish

 

What happens when a LANGUISHING heart taps into LAVISH love?

Last night, I read the word “languishing” in an article written in the New York Times.  This morning, I read the same word – “languishing” - in the book of Psalms in the Bible.  When a word I haven’t heard before or in a long time is suddenly repeated around me, I sit up and take notice.  I believe it’s God giving me a cosmic tap on the shoulder and I’ve learned to pay attention. 

Languishing means to be weak, to droop, to be exhausted, to feel forlorn or depleted.  It’s how many of us are feeling right now as we trudge slump-shouldered into our second year of Covid lockdowns and isolations.   We feel stuck, cut off from the life we want to be living.  Our days have lost their lustre.

“Hey mom!  What are we doing tomorrow?” my kids will query night after night.

“Same as we did today, guys…” I drone wearily night after night.

Adam Grant’s article* nailed that feeling I feel; Yup, I’m languishing.  How about you?

If I were an electronic device, I’d plug myself in and charge up my batteries.  If I were a gas tank, I’d glug gas into me real quick.  If I was a cluster of drooping yellow tulips, I’d scream for water. 

It’s quite obvious that I am in need of a fill-up, a charge-up, a replenishing.  But batteries, gas, and water won’t suffice.  So where on earth should I turn?  Where on earth can I go?  Where on earth is the answer?

There are many distractions on this earth that may give us some energy, lift, and thrust but are they enough to let us fly?  To truly grant flourishing and prosperity at a heart and soul level?

Nope.  Though the distractions of good food, great company, a solid education, engrossing entertainment, sensual sex, happy holidays, amazing art and literature will hold and fill us up for a time; they are all finite.  They end or run out and cannot sustain us through the whole season of our complicated, messy, constantly-changing, roller-coaster life. 

Which is why I am suggesting we plug our languishing hearts into the lavish abundance of God’s love.  His love is profuse, extravagant, sumptuously rich, unreasonable, and endless.  It never runs out and when we fill-up with His love, our cup runs over.   That means we will have more, more than enough. 

God’s love can hold and fill us up for all time.  And it fills us with this strength-inducing thing called HOPE. 

Not so much a hope that our circumstances will change; not so much a hope that covid will end and we can collectively rip off our masks and hug and congregate once again; but, rather, a deeper and longer-lasting HOPE that no matter what happens, we are loved and looked after.  A HOPE that even if Covid goes on for forty more years, God has a purpose and a plan for all this and for every single one of us.  For me and for you.   A hope that God will see us through this time. 

And I get it, hope might feel risky right now.  Many of us have had our hopes dashed over and over again over the past year.  Hope for that surgery that was planned.  Dashed.  Hope for covid to be over.  Dashed.  Hope for this birthday to be celebrated with friends.  Dashed.  Hope to sit bedside in the hospital with our loved one.  Dashed.

Hope might feel risky right now because we’ve been anchoring it into the slipperiness of circumstances.  What we need is a firm and secure holding place to grow our hope from.  What we need is the rock-like solidity that is God and his beautiful, glorious, lavish love. 

My friends, let’s tentatively tip-toe our languishing hearts and drooping shoulders into the lavish abundance of God’s love.   Let’s plug in here and wait for the fill-up of HOPE to happen.   It may take a while to charge up, fill-up and renew your strength so just keep plugged in and wait for it.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.

And, even if covid continues, let the HOPE growing out of God’s love allow you to flourish today.

 

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“Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am languishing; heal me, O LORD, for my bones are troubled.  My soul also is greatly troubled.  But you, O LORD - how long?”  Psalm 6:2,3

 

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God.” 

1 John 1: 3a

“I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heart my cry.  He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.  He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.”  Psalm 40: 1-3

 

*New York Times article referred to:  “There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling:  It’s Called Languishing”  by Adam Grant

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/19/well/mind/covid-mental-health-languishing.html?smid=fb-share&fbclid=IwAR1OeLi1YWzF_6LIKzGZqWtFRycrVNuMv2LoEviXF4P14Ywy9EZV-sNf15o

The Sound of Snow

 What sound does a snowflake make as it swirls toward the ground?

Rain pitters, patters, splashes, and sloshes.

But a snowflake lazily drifts, floats, spins in a silent lavish audacious dance toward the earth.

White blanketing the pear tree blossoms; burdening the daffodil heads with glistening weighted drops; coating miss kim lilac branches with intricate lacy cold.

Today, it snowed and more snow is on the forecast for tomorrow.

What do you get when you cross a spring snow storm with a lockdown, I wondered in annoyed and frustrated irritation today. It all seemed like a cruel joke and in retaliation, I decided to not go outside any more today.

"Take that, Outside! No walking with you!" I sneered.

Every year, I laughingly count on that One Extra Surprise Snowstorm that arrives late in spring. Every year I wait until mid May to wash the winter gear and fold it all away for next year. But every year, Spring lures me in with her seductive flowering trees and bulging green tree buds and shy lily shoots. And this year, it happened again.

After all, the maple and willow trees had adorned their green haloes; the magnolia trees were bursting with pale pink blooms; deep purple hyacinths clustered fragrantly in gardens; and bold yellow forsythia flowers colored bare branches.

Plus, it seemed Iike a warm and gently arrived spring would be a wonderful trade-off for our current pandemic-flavoured, locked down state of existence.

But, no. Snow seemed to be the cruel joke of the day and I scowled fiercely at it all day.

Until tonight, when Outside beckoned.

I love love love being in nature; it's my Outdoor Therapy because when I'm in nature, I'm surrounded by God's creation, I feel so close to him, and I spend much of my walk talking with Him (well, when I'm not chatting with the neighbors. Hi, Linda!)

On my evening walk, snowflakes swirled around me, coating my eyelashes with wet cold.

And it was so peaceful and beautiful and wonderful that I wondered what sound does a snowflake make as it swirls toward the ground?

Do you know?

It makes no sound. No sound at all.

And with the loud silence, my heart felt peace.

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#womenencouragers #snow

Covid Can't Steal My Joy

 

• I hear them before I see them.

  Actually, I'm sure the entire neighbourhood hears them because they are loudly laughing and shrieking with delight. They run outside on stocking feet to bounce boisterously together whenever they can. All four of them.
  I watch for several seconds from behind the screen door before I sneak out into the sunshine to shoot a video.
  It's important that I really see and remember moments like this. It's important that we all do.
  Why?
  Because we can get laden and weighed down by the negatives, grievances, and general suckiness of this world. It's easy to be heavy-hearted after hearing about the Provincial emergency and stay-at-home order here in Ontario. It's easy to become frustrated, angry, and depressed. I know I am.
  And all that negativity sucks the air out of the room, doesn't it? It distracts us from seeing the raw beauty that is still there, from witnessing moments of exuberance and unbridled laughter, from glimpsing snapshots of delight.
  Covid has stripped down and stolen so much from us over the past year; but guess what? It doesn't get to steal our joy!

  Nope-on-a-rope!
  Joy is rooted in an unshakable and audacious confidence that God is still in control of all these things, all these days, all this covid. Joy is a condition of the heart that overflows and spills over into the words we say, the things we do, the thoughts we harbour. Joy is not slippery like happiness because it doesn't hinge on our circumstances looking a certain way. This means that even if you and I are not happy about the lockdowns and stay-at-home orders dictated by covid, we can still find joy.
  Listen for the laughter. Look for the beauty. Seek out the signs of spring. Experience the delight. Remember these moments and two-hand cling to joy.
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  "Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Psalm 30:5b
  "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths." Proverbs 3: 5,6
  #womenencouragers #seekjoy #covid2021 #StayAtHomeOrder

  #gotthejoydowninmyheart #joy

  
  

All Shook Up! (an Easter Reflection)

 

It’s April 1^st, but I’m not laughing. 

The sun’s out, a long weekend stretches ahead, but I’m unsettled.  I can’t stop thinking about a tale of two cities.

There’s the city of Jerusalem circa 33 AD that's "all stirred up" when Jesus rides into town.

And, in a vast contrast, there’s my city which is currently in a grey-lockdown level of shut-down due to covid-19.

 

A city stirred up and a city shutdown.

 

I worry that all our Easter celebrations will be cancelled for the second year in a row and my heart feels heavy.  There have been rumours of people quarantining; of schools closing early; of numbers in Ontario rising and these feel like the ominous precludes to the impending doom of further shutdowns.

 

And I wonder how to get stirred up about Easter when my sentiments feel like such a far cry from the long-ago sentiments of those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem.   They were loud and boisterous.  They were exuberant and joyful. They waved palm branches - a beautiful symbol of victory and peace - and shed their cloaks to lay before Jesus and the donkey colt he rode in on. They cheered "HOSANNA" and welcomed Jesus as if he was a conquering hero.

They were not despondent, discouraged, or disquieted.

 

So, I do a little word study because word studies make me happy (also cheerful, gleeful, and delightedly jovial).

 

Some etymology work unearths the fact that the "stirred up" in the story of Jesus' Triumphal Entry comes from the Greek word seiō which means to shake, agitate, tremor, or quake.  The Bible uses this same word (seiō) to describe the earth shaking after Jesus died or the guards trembling when an angel appears to roll away the stone from his tomb. 

 

If being stirred up means to be shaken up and agitated, then I think Hamilton just might be a city that is simultaneously shutdown AND stirred up.

 

In Jerusalem, the source of the agitation was Jesus.  He was ushering in hope and victory at a time when there was oppression and defeat.  In Hamilton, the source of our agitation is covid-19.  It ushers in despair, uncertainty, and divisive opinions at a time when there was seeming comfort and peace. 

 

In both cases, people are unsettled, and this is always a good time to sit up, take notice and seek answers. 

 

Covid has exposed the transience of this world.  It is susceptible to sickness and death.

Covid has exposed our love of the comforts in this world. 

Covid has exposed our argumentativeness and inability to listen to one another.

Covid has exposed the fact that our hope cannot be found in this place called earth.    

Covid has unsettled us, shaken us up, and caused despair. 

 

And the wonderful thing about all this agitation is that it makes us look long and hard for hope, peace, and comfort. 

 

Which was ushered in by Jesus long ago. 

 

Jesus gives hope for humanity. 

Jesus died for the sins of all who believe in him and then he rose again. 

Jesus conquered sin and death.

Jesus promises peace and rest and an end to despair. 

Jesus is the point of our Easter celebrations even if church is cancelled, dinners are postponed, and we can only see loved ones while masked and standing 6 feet apart.

 

The Easter weekend is almost here.  Are you feeling shaken up?

There is hope for you and me today and it’s certainly not found in this covid-contaminated place.  There’s hope today and it’s found in Jesus. 

She Who Has Ears......

I've got two of them right here on either side of my head.  They're cute, a little flappy and adorned with silver loops. 
I call them my ears and I'm quite partial to them.  Honestly, they're cute!
But vanity aside, the real reason I love them so much is that they are super great information absorbers.  They just take in all kinds of audio info like talking people, melodic tunes, podcasts, and indicative noises to alert me to stuff.  Blinks and tings and blurbs and burps and fiddle-dee-dos. 

And yet, these flappy and silver-looped things called ears don't always work so well because there are times when I'm sitting there and just not hearing a thing.
Like when my husband and oldest son start talking hockey stats or trading deadlines.  My ears are right there being all flashy but it's like they refuse to take in or process any of that hockey-trading-information.  It's like they're straight-arming all that audio info:  "Hey now, you ain't wanted here!" and shooing it back out the ear canal:  "Git!  Git along now."  (my ears apparently have a  southern accent). 
And I know I'm not alone.  I've noticed that every single person can be Engaged or Not Engaged by what is going on around them.  And it seems that Interest is at fault.

Well, duh, you are all thinking.  Obviously when I'm interested in something, I'm engaged....but humour me for a moment. 

Because in a classroom or homeschool room or any learning environment, aren't there certain particulars that we just want every single student and child to know and learn?  Aren't there?

Like, I want every one of my kids to learn how to write her 1-2-3s and A-B-Cs.  I want all my children to know how to read and write and do long division without a calculator and write an essay and identify all the parts of the digestive system and be able to understand Salvation and Redemption and the Grace-of-God and also know all about all the continents and where they're located.  Right?

But one child took to reading and writing with little to no assistance and another loves math like he was born with the multiplication tables on his newborn lips and yet another loves solving any dilemma involving computer technology and another one.....pushes his books away angrily.
Frustrated.
Upset.
Annoyed and unwilling to do anything more.
And doing that downward spiral thing that kids do when they just can't get the information to flow far enough down their ear canals to get processed by the brain.

Interest is not piqued here.  His angry face and folded arms are clearly indicating not only a lack of interest but a mounting frustration.
And frustration seems to build a wall that blocks out everything.
There ain't no learning happening here, folks!
Except for the part where the child is processing this: "I'm stupid.  I can't do this.  This is stupid.  I hate it.  I hate school.  I hate learning." 
EEK, right?

This is not the lesson any parent or educator or teacher wants her student/ child to take home.

So, how do we get a child to learn in this situation?

Bring in singing goats?  Tickle torture? 
Nopety-nope-nope.

If the material isn't piquing the interest.....we gotta raise the interest another way.
Dr. Seuss did this with his uproariously hilarious word-play.  He saw beginner readers for kids that were so blandishly boring that he thought kids might object to learning how to read simply so they could avoid finding out more on the lives of Dick and Jane.

"Look, Dick, look," said Jane blandly.
"See Spot run," commented Dick mildly.
"Run, Spot, run," countered Jane in a monotone.
Spot can run but not well. 
Spot has died of boredom.

"Snort!" thought Dr. Seuss when he read these hideously dry readers; then he word-crafted and spun tales about Cats in Hats and creatures who Hop on Pop.  Today, my reluctant reader giggled his way through both Dr. Seuss books.  Giggled and then reached for more.

Learning can be so so so much fun. 
Sometimes it's in the material but sometimes .....sometimes it's in the way the material is presented.  Let's never lose sight of that!
Not as teachers or pastors or speakers.

Back to the unmotivated learner....

My reluctant reader is also a reluctant writer.  So we turned his lesson into a game. 
I gave him a list of words.  He had a short checklist of what was needed in the writing assignment.  I then found some candies and hid them in a tupperware container that we renamed "Ye Olde Treasure Chest". 
"Okay, buddy," I sang out in an overly cheerful way, "If you can accomplish these tasks in ye olde writing assignment, you can win the treasure!  Argh!"  I presented the checklist and held my breath.
Would it work?
Would his interest be piqued?
Could we learn through game and fun and tomfoolery?

And then.....his eyes lit up.  He unfolded his arms and snatched a pencil from the table and began scrawling.  Writing.  Trying and pushing himself.  And checking off his list until he was done and done and the treasure was in his wee hands. Argh!

The best part?  Success fuels success.
He was done and feeling good about accomplishing his writing assignment.  And that good feeling carried through math and reading and 18th Century Philosophy Class.  Okay, I'm just kidding about that last one!

Perhaps having ears isn't enough.  We need Interest to be roused to usher all that information along to our brains.  Sometimes that interest is natural.  And sometimes we gotta inspire interest through games and challenges and stories and all around tomfoolery.
I'm pretty sure that would work for me. 
As in, I'd learn hockey stats in exchange for Ye Olde Treasure!
How about you?

Of Regrets, Resolutions, and Rocking Reality.

This morning began all wrong.

I was still laying in bed at 9:17am....foggy-brained, headachey, and feeling the grouchie-grumbles coming on.  I don't like it when I sleep in because I am a Carpe*-Morning type of person and savour the early hours of quiet and peace when I can do my things at my pace.  And I had had all three of my alarms ready and set to go off nice and early so that I could revel in the silent solitude and accomplish some of the things on my to-do list.  Armed with a giant mug of hot tea.

But then....life. 

You see, yesterday, I took a van-load of kids and our dog to a local park.  There was a playground, a walking path and a small skate park fully loaded with vert ramps, half or quarter pipes, bowls and stair rails for kids to skateboard, scooter, and bike on.  We arrived there with one Razor scooter, one lime-green penny board, seven kids and one dog.  Plus me.  The kids began vigorously scootering, penny-boarding and just running up and down those ramps and bowls and pipes.  It was all very Ultimate Beast-Master.  They slid and skittered and scampered and rolled with the endless energy that kids have.  I have to confess, I got a little inspired and jogged the dog up and down a ramp or two or five.  He bounded up and catapulted down, his doggy mouth opened wide in a smile, tongue lolling.  He loves doing crazy, that dog of ours.  He didn't need wheels to master this skate park; he was all set with four furry paws and the exuberance of a yellow lab.

An hour later, we packed up and left.

When we tumbled out of the van and rumbled into our home a few minutes later, we were red-faced and happy.  But not the dog.  He limped out of the car and painfully climbed the two stairs into the house.

Uh oh, we thought.

But nothing seemed to be broken.  There was no blood or swelling or oozing bodily fluids.  So we decided to make him comfortable and wait for the morning. 
What followed was a night of Paul or I or the kids checking our hound.  He whined and whimpered and moved only when he needed to.  He was obviously sore.  We hand fed him treats - which he still vigourously gobbled up because he is a Lab, after all, and eating is their specialty - and brought him bowls of water to lap up.  We Googled 24-hour vet emergency locations and wrote down their addresses and phone numbers, just in case.  We checked on our dog at midnight and 3am and 4am and 5am and had a mini-meeting at 6am.  We decided to wait a few hours yet.  Paul curled onto the couch and pulled a fuzzy blanket over him.  The dog saw that he was staying and stopped whimpering, laid his heavy head down and slept.  I ambled upstairs and collapsed into bed until....well...9:17am.

This morning, we contacted our caring and awesome vet (#jamesschulenberg).  He took the time to assess, assure, and reassure us that the dog had probably just overdone it.  Labs are total Weekend Warriors, he told us, they overdo it all the time because they get caught up in all the fun. 

In the meantime, Yukon had perked up, walked around the block, devoured breakfast plus all the spilled popcorn on the ground from yesterday, licked everyone's face and gone back to sleep.  He's not crying or whining or whimpering any more.  His movements are tentative but not pain-restricted.  We think he's gonna be okay.  We continue to wait and see.

In the meantime, nothing about today is going according to plan.

It's the last day of the year, and I had all sorts of ideas about what we were going to do.  I'm a Carpe*-Last-Day-of-the-Year kinda person.  I wanted to get some early morning work done, do some family skating, get ready for the evening's festivities and spend time reflecting on the year gone by. 

But nothing seems to be going according to plan.

It's interesting; the older I get (and I am pretty dang young yet), the more I hear this sentiment: Nothing seems to be going according to plan. 
My life is not where I wanted it to be. 
I never thought I'd be here. 
Or, in the words of the Proverbs 31 writer and speaker, Lysa TerKeurst, "It's Not Supposed to Be This Way."

Sometimes, looking back, remembrances turn into So Many Regrets.
I have them.  I regret taking our dog to the skate park.  I regret running him up and down ramps meant for kids with wheels.  I regret ... I regret.....I regret.

How about you? 
Got regrets?

I think when we look back on a year gone by, it's easy to get weighed down in the Regrets.  They're heavy, consuming, and absorbing.  They have a way of distracting us from the good memories.  From the moment when my dog was running by my side and he slid me this deep-brown, side-long glance that said, "This is fun, isn't it?!"  I love that dog!  He gets my kinda fun....the kind that gets so caught up in all the fun that it hurts. 
And if I don't watch out, my regrets will wash away that memory.
Unless I refuse to let them.
Today, I will remember 2018.  Reflect on it.  Allow myself small regrets but then refuse to let myself stay there.  Regrets will not wash away the good memories.  Not today.

Today, I look forward to 2019.  I have lots of Resolutions. One of them includes never running my beautiful Lab over skate board ramps, like, ever again.  I WILL allow my regret to be transformed into a learning experience.  Good can come from regret as long as I don't wallow there or be overwhelmed by it all.
I have other Resolutions that include early morning alarms (all three of them), workout challenges, doing more, spending less, eating better, being kinder, loving harder, writing more.....and.....graciously allowing room for Reality.

If Regret looks back and Resolutions look forward, what happens with the here and the now? 

This morning, I woke up at 9:17am.  It wasn't what I had planned.  But my head-fog and aches cleared up and I felt rested.  I came downstairs to see my son taking the dog out for a walk.  Yukon was not limping or whimpering.   I had a leisurely coffee with my husband while the kids played happily with each other.  My awesome vet assured us and my dog lovingly licked my hand. 
"I'm so sorrry, buddy," I whispered against his velvety soft ears and his brown-eyes slid sideways at me awash with unconditional love.  We ate breakfast at 11:45am and no one complained or whined or argued.  We meditated on some beautiful Bible verses together and made plans for the night's festivities ahead.  And  then I began doing some writing...armed with a huge, hot mug of caffeinated coffee. 
And all was good with the world. 
Even if it wasn't unfolding according to my plans.
So I'm just going to sit in the here and now and Revel for a bit.  Reflect on my reality which is pretty dang okay, after all.  Even without my lists, three alarms, schedules and plans. 

Maybe you can join me? 
There's a time to Remember and even a time to Regret.  There's a time for Resolutions.
But for now, let's just Rock our Reality.


Happy 2019!  May God bless and keep you.
Love BV


*Carpe - from Carpe Diem which is Latin for "seize the day"

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."  
                                                                                                           - Jeremiah 29: 11-13