Us against You??

 

Today, our team lost.

Even with the Before-Game strategy carefully reviewed in the van on the way over (Attack! Attack! Attack!) -

Even though there was passing and shooting and pucks pinging off the boards -

Even though our goalie achieved contortionist status as he sat in goalie-padded splits and swiped a puck out of midair-

Even though the coaches cajoled and coaxed and cheered and criticized and commanded -

Even then, we lost.

And the other team won.

It was their first victory of the season and their end-of-game celebration rivaled the greatest Stanley Cup playoff victory of all time. Sticks and gloves and helmets were thrown into the air and rained down like festive confetti.

Forwards and defense grabbed their goalie in a hug and they all fell to the ground in a communal embrace of joy.

They cheered and cheered and cheered whilst proud parents clicked pics to share with anyone and all who cared about a small victory in a house league in a tucked away arena of my hometown.

My son's friend was on that team and he exited the dressing room proudly wearing an army tag necklace with the words "NEVER QUIT!" etched onto the back.

"It's why we won!" he gushed to my son.

I expected disappointment or irritation from my child. Possibly about one hour of hockey-loss despair.

Instead he loaded his hockey bag and stick into the back of my van and said, "I'm kinda glad they won today. They deserved it."

The game is so much more than Us against You, isn't it?

It's about a thousand thousand collective experiences.

It's about sharing the fight and the dream and the sweet hard-earned victories with others.

It's about communal despair for the losses.

It's about teamwork that extends beyond the team.

It's about Us AND You.

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bv

#hockeythoughts #arenainspirations #womenencouragers #loss #win #hockey

The Good Old Hockey Game??

 

The good old hockey game took a dark turn this past weekend...

I was rinkside in good Canadian style, decked out in my winter parka and toque, nursing a Tim's medium regular, cheering on my baby boy and his hockey teammates when I heard it:

Blood-curdling screams of raw rage ripped from the throat of the angriest eleven- year old I've ever seen. His shoulders curled in and he thrashed and slammed his stick on the ice over and over and over again.

And again.

I stopped clapping over the winning goal that my son's team had scored. I stopped because it was obvious that the screaming defenseman from the opposing team had lost control.

His screaming and stick-slamming continued and suddenly I realized: he's stuck.

This poor boy is out-of-control stuck.

But before I or anyone else could think or do or say anything, his teammate swooped in. Literally he skate-swooped in, slid a hockey-gloved arm around the screaming boy and HELD HIM.

It was part restraining hold, part hug and the screaming suddenly ceased.

His body slumped and relaxed in the tight hold, his stick clattered useless to the ice.

His teammate held him for a few more seconds.

"You good?" I imagine him whispering before letting go.

Then they both retrieved their hockey sticks and skated to the bench.

The moment passes so quickly and could have easily been lost and forgotten in a game that was nail-biting, exciting, and fast.

But, for me, it's the most memorable moment of the game.

The moment when one teammate is in DESPERATE need of help, and another one shows up.

That's teamwork at its finest, isn't it? Friendship at its best. Hockey or any other sport showing its most beautiful side.

Because goals are important, assists are amazing; saves are special and penalties perhaps are best forgotten.....but it's the teamwork and showing up for each other and being there for one another when we need help, that's the stuff of memories!

The good old hockey game took a dark turn this weekend. But, thanks to a teammate, the darkness was pushed back and did not win.

Kindness and teamwork and love did.

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bv

#hockeygame #womenencouragers #hockey #teamwork #help #lovewins #sports

Raising our Daughters - FIGHT for her!

Just to be clear....I'm not JUST talking to the women who've birthed girls......I'm talking to the men and women who are PRESENT in the lives of the next generation of girls. I'm talking to the teachers / counselors / aunts / uncles / mothers / fathers/ writers /pastors / neighbors / friends / grandparents.

You, too, are raising daughters.

So....FIGHT for her.

There will be times when she cannot navigate this life because it's too heavy. Talk to her, guide her, pray with her, get her the help she needs.

Be her voice. Be her fingers tapping out phone numbers and making connections. Be her boundary-guard and fiercely hiss at anyone who dares cross her boundaries.

Unleash your inner adult warrior and fight for her.

There will be times when hormones or mental health struggles or physical health worries burden her or confuse her or make her mess up.

Be the stability she needs. Be strong and steady. Be her anchor and anchor her to the unending steadiness that is Jesus.

There will be times when she has forgotten her password or needs to figure out math or needs guidance traversing the social dynamics of high school.

Be present. Be all ears. Be gracious. Be patient (oh....be so patient).

There will be times when relationships are tangled and mixed up and messy. When a sibling or a friend has ghosted her or cut her off or ignored her or sent her a nasty text.

Love her! Tell her that you will be her army on the battlegrounds of this relationship. Embolden her with your words and ways of love.

There will be launchings. To kindergarten, Sunday school, high school, camp, college/university, and beyond. She will need you fight for her.....to dry her tears and teach her how to boil an egg.

There will be mistakes. She may lash out or call you names, she may question her faith, she may question other things you dare not repeat. Ah....these are the sweetest moments of all! Lean in, Warriors, and fight the hardest for her here.

Fight for her, with her, and alongside her. Fight over her and behind her.

Just keep on fighting.

She needs you.

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bv

#womenencouragers #fight #raisingher

Raising our Daughters: Have MANY Conversations (Sometimes Talk).

 Raising Our Daughters: Have MANY Conversations. (Sometimes talk.)

Raising our daughters - and our sons, for that matter - means we need to be doing a lot of talking and even more listening.

We need to talk about All The Things.

Talk about school and friends and relationships; talk about God and faith and a prayer life; talk about stress and healthy stress-relief options; talk about sex and sexuality; talk about social media and cultural influences; talk about mental health.

And ensure that more than half of these conversations involve you just listening. Listen to your daughters (and your sons) talk about their worries, fears, and relationships. Listen while she shares her hopes, faith journey, anxieties, passions, dreads, dreams, passions, friend-dramas, and doubts.

Listen and let her ask questions. Don't shut her down, silence her, shame her, say she shouldn't feel that way. She just told you she does. Be the safe place she needs to express her negative emotions.*

Listen well. Listen quietly. Stop what you are doing because the laundry/ dinner/ phone call WILL wait for you and this moment may not. Let your ears be open and available for all those conversations that your daughters (and sons) need to have. The most meaningful ones will happen when you are too busy or when it's too late at night or you have just made yourself a hot cup of tea and cracked open your novel. Trust me.

Keep your ears open even then.

And practice your poker face. Make eye contact. Quiet your breathing. Silence your rebuttals. Practice your poker face and quieted body language because if you have NOT had at least one conversation with your child that you DID NOT WANT TO HAVE - that made you feel uncomfortable, or overwhelmed, or scared, or nervous about what the neighbours/pastor/your family might say - you need to ask yourself if you are even talking about things that matter.

Go to the hard topic places. Let your child be intense and honest. Let her spill her darkest thoughts and worries into your adult lap. Let her ask questions and vocalize her doubts.

Because - trust me - if you are not the one having these conversations with her, SOMEONE ELSE WILL.

Are you afraid you won't know how to respond well?

Are you worried that you won't be eloquent enough to say what needs to be said?

Are you disquieted by the notion that you are not smart enough, trained enough, good enough to hear her out?

Well, join the club that's called Parenting!

It's okay to say, "I don't know." You are not letting her down; you are honouring her just by hearing her out and then acknowledging that you might not have the answers either.

It's healthy to admit, "I never looked at it that way. What a fresh perspective."

It's fine to respond with, "Phew, that's a heavy topic for midnight! Let's talk for 10 more minutes then head to bed and go for coffees in the morning. I want to talk more about this, but, dang, I am tired!"

It's wise to reply with, "I don't agree with your line of thinking but I respect your questions. Let's go talk to someone who can give us both some clarity!"

It's heartening to say, "Let's pray together right now about this."

It's necessary to share, "I love you so much and God loves you even more. I'm honoured that you trust me to talk with you about these things. I'm so thankful for this time with you."

Talk. And listen.

It's okay that you don't have all the answers for her. She just needs some help holding all her words.

May God bless you with shoulders to lean on, hands to hold her, and great big ears for all she has to share.

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bv

#womenencouragers #raisingdaughters #talk #listen #listenallthetime #listenwell #praytogether #love

* Adam Young, "The Big Six: What Every Child Needs from their Parents", adamyoungcounseling.com

Memoirs of a Family

once there was two.  Now there are 248.  This is the story of my family.

Today’s family reunion saw about 248 renditions, combinations, and illustrations of our unique and beautiful DNA.  We are a very tall tribe, strong-boned, and sturdy-hipped.  Many of us behold this world with an intensely blue gaze.  We are fiercely stubborn, passionately loyal, and decidedly tenacious.   You might not want to mess with, argue with, or cross us!

Several years ago, our matriarch – Beppe (Dutch Frisian for grandma) – passed away and we’ve all felt a little disconnected and disjointed since then.

But today – today marked 70 years since my grandparents crossed an ocean with six children and a seventh baby on the way from the Netherlands to Canada - and we all needed to gather, remember, and celebrate. 

About half of us could be there, because….well, you try to schedule something with 248 stubborn, loyal, and tenacious tall people  and you know why only half of us could be there.

So we gathered under the pristine blue skies to share, talk, and reminisce.  It’s something families can do well when they spend time together.  My Aunt Susan stood up to share her 9-year-old memories of that Great Adventure that was their immigration story to Canada.

“We were so excited about this adventure on a boat that would take us to Canada.  Because we couldn’t take much money over, our parents bought us new clothes and shoes before we left.  We were so excited but also so sad to say good-bye to friends, family, church family, neighbours, and Oma.  We knew we might never see them again,” she shared. 

I couldn’t even imagine that kind of good-bye.  I can’t even imagine that kind of adventure.  But I’m so glad my Pake and Beppe did. 

Once there were just the two of them, married during World War II.  My Beppe wore a black dress, because that’s what Dutch brides did during the war.  And now - even though Pake and Beppe no longer walk this earth - their legacy does in 248 variations.  Their legacy exists in the lives of their seven children (one passed on), in the lives of their grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren. 

Every single one of us has been touched, tainted, and tailored by joy and sorrow, life and loss, birth and death, healing and hurt.  It’s shaped the tall, sturdy-boned, fiercely stubborn people we’ve become and as we live, breathe, and live out these days God’s given us, I’m curious as to what comes next.  What stories will we create?  What adventures will we embark upon?  What connections will we make?  What legacy will we leave behind?

Once there was two.  Now there are 248.  Let the story continue…

Silver Thread

 How

is it possible that in this place - 

so temporary,

so transient,

so fickle and fraught with ugliness 

and jagged-edged despair -  

how is it possible that this place that we call

HOME

can simultaneously be so 

terrifyingly horrible

and so tangibly beautiful?

Fiery-red sun sighing settles low,

Brittle snow and ice glitter and crunch beneath our feet,

black-eyed juncos flit and flutter

and the great arc of sky stretches and yawns above.

How is it possible that this place 

which can tear our life apart in a moment

or the blink of an eye

so that we are shredded by grief

and sifting through the trauma-torn pieces; 

how is is possible that this place that can feel like hell

can also make our hearts soar?

It must be the possibility and mystery

that can only be

GOD.

Bringing beauty out of gutted brokenness

And healing to ravaged hearts

and colour to bled-out lives

and hope to despairing emptiness.

Not 

a silver lining around our sorrows

but the thread of

constancy

and 

steadfastness

and 

faithfulness

that runs right 

through 

them.

Of Foxes & Farewells (an open letter)

 You weren’t allowed to peek inside.

 I’d been decorating the room for a month - secretly sneaking in an alphabet, a giant calendar, fun little music shakers, math manipulatives, a table, and chairs – but you and Don were not allowed to peek inside until that very first day of school.

 And when that day arrived, so began our Homeschool journey together.

Over the years, our family grew. Our classroom spilled over to invade every single space of our home, our yard, our life.  Books piled onto every horizontal surface, schedules taped to cupboard doors, a motto for education written in word art and hanging on the living room wall:

 “A true education begins with WONDER and ends with WISDOM”.

For a while, every subject was taught and led and supervised by me.  I sat by your side and traced letters with you, shaping the sounds aloud together.  My fingers followed the words on the page that you read.  We sang songs.  We memorized Bible verses and poems. 

We were tethered together.  Side by side.  Mom and son.  Teacher and student.

But as you got older, you became more independent, more confident, more capable and, soon, I was sending you off to tackle subjects on your own while I traced letters with your siblings. 

It wasn’t always magical. 

There was a lot of mess.  A lot of tears.  A lot of times when I had to speak words of truth and encouragement to you.  A lot of times when you had to speak words of truth and encouragement to me.

But the beauty of homeschooling is its flexibility; so your studies and learning ebbed and flowed around the broken, messy shape of our lives, our health issues, our schedules. 

It was messy.  But there was also magic.

You read books, wrote essays, multiplied algebraic expressions, coded.

But you also joined a homeschool hockey program, hiked, played in sport’s tournaments, joined in with co-op classes and school fairs, made new friends. 

And as you grew older, you needed my help less.  My supervision less.  My teaching less.  You were no longer tethered to my side, holding my hand to cross the street, asking for my assistance with every question. 

I still sit beside you to wrestle through coding problems or give advice on how you drive or discuss theological topics; but there are times now when you teach me.  (like:  How to use a phone without throwing it! )

You know, parenting is this delicate dance of holding on and letting go.  And as your parent and homeschool teacher of twelve years, I’m feeling the disquieting tug of this dance even more. 

I want to hold on.  To keep you by my side, in our homeschool bubble, and near.

But I want to let go.  To see you grow, learn, and soar.

And then yesterday, your little brother finished his read-aloud….a story of a boy and a fox…..and the final scene reduced me.

"No,” commanded the boy to the fox, “I don't want you to stay.  I'll always leave the porch door open, but you have to go."

It eloquently articulated the unsettled mixed-up feelings of parenting/ homeschool teaching….to want to hold on.  To need to let go.

So, my son, next year you will walk away from the VanHuisstede Homeschool Academy and, God willing, attend Grade 12 at a local public school.  It’s the next step that we’ve prayed over, agonized over, talked over, discussed over and over.

You no longer need me tethered to your side or holding your hand.  And, even though I kinda want you to stay, its time to go. 

Liam, I’ll always leave the porch door open, but you have to go.

Love always,

Mom