This is Personal.

So, here we are teetering on the brink of new beginnings.   It's the last day of 2017 and soon we'll be counting down the seconds to a brand new year.  2018.  It'll take a while for that to roll off the tongue, won't it? 

This morning - while one child yanked out a loose tooth, another upturned every laundry basket in the house searching for pants-without-holes and two others fought over emptying the dishwasher - I flipped through my purple pocket Bible.  I wanted to read through Psalm 18.  You see, we have this tradition in our house when there is a birthday.  It's a tradition that happens alongside devouring cake and singing Happy Birthday.  As a family, we read through the numbered Psalm that corresponds with the birthday person's new age.  So, if a child is turning 4, we read Psalm 4 together.  In light of this tradition and in preparation for a new year, I read Psalm 18.  Call it searching for a slice of calm in the midst of crazy chaos!

The din died down as the words pulled me in; immediately the Word-Nerd inside me sat up and took notice of several patterns. 

"Egads", thought I, "check out the overwhelming number of first-person pronouns in the psalm". 

The words "I", "me" and "my" are mentioned at least 93 times!  The other main character is God.  Me and God.  God and me. 

"This is personal," I thought.

God. 
He's not a distant relative who visits several times a year and then Skypes a few other times.  Sends a text or two in between.  He's not some random guy that you've only heard stories about and seen pictures of.  He's not a celebrity whose weirdo life story is plastered on the cover of grocery store magazines.  He is much much more.

He is MY God. 
He is MY rock.  He is MY fortress.  My shield.  My deliverer.  My stronghold.  He hears ME when I cry out in fear, loneliness, weakness, frustration, sadness, anger, anxiety.  He hears me and he responds and reacts to my cries.
Whoa, does He respond!  There are about nine verses smack in the middle of Psalm 18 where there is a complete absence of the pronouns "me", "I" and "my".  These are the verses describing God's reaction to me crying out to Him and this is not the reaction of a passive, passive-aggressive or inactive God.  These are verses filled with Activity!  God's reaction to me crying out is one filled with movement; there is "reeling", "rocking", "quaking", "thundering", "scattering" and "flashing" and then the foundations of the world are laid bare.  This is a God who made all things and can strip them all away.   

This is MY God. 
He is my support and guide.  He lightens up my darkness, rescues me from things that entangle, overwhelm and encompass me.  He equips me and trains me and makes me strong.  This is the take-home stuff of Psalm 18, people.  Run along and give it a read!
 
This God....is MY God.  I have a relationship with him that is just between me and Him.  Him and me.  I'm the weaker one, by the way, but when He's at my back I am so so strong.  Like biceps bulging strong!
Like, bring-it-on-world-I-can-take-you strong!
Like, I can BE BOLD and BE COURAGEOUS strong!

He is MY God.
And He can be YOUR God too because he's big and mighty and strong enough to go around.     

Today we are teetering on the brink of new beginnings.  2018 is only a few hours away.  Get ready to count down the hours, minutes and seconds.  Moisten those lips for Happy-New-Year smooches and lean into the very best embrace of all.
Lean into the love of a God who wants to get personal with you.
You and God.
God and You.


Happy 2018!

- BvH

"I love you, O LORD, my strength.  The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.  I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised and I am saved from my enemies."  

- Psalm 18: 1-3

Healing in Storytelling

Ever have a moment when someone captures exactly a thought that you've had?

You know, except they articulate it perfectly.
Capture it precisely.
Illustrate it so completely.

Yeah....I get that a lot.

Today, I was sitting in a waiting room and I picked up the Hamilton Spectator to find a delicious little article entitled "The Power in Literary Fiction."

"Whoa," I thoughts to myself, "this sounds like a goodie!"

I'm all about the power of words.

There is such POWER in words.
Written words.
Spoken word.
Rhyming, silly, funny words.

A word after a word after a word delivers sentences and thoughts and ideas.
Words can break or build up.
Words can bully or beautify.
They can motivate or dishearten.

God reveals Himself in His Word.  The gospel of John starts in this way:  "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

Words inspire.
Words terrify.
Words confuse and clarify.

Words are gorgeous, delicious, tantalizingly, yummy bits of awesomeness.
Ya know?

And then I read this article titled "The Power in Literary Fiction:  There is truth and healing in storytelling" by Thomas Froese.  Let me share an excerpt with you:

"Healing, after all, is the nature of story.

This is why the ancient Greeks would write 'A Healing Place for the Soul' at the entrance to their libraries. It's why if you go to the Bloomsbury district of London, you can visit The School of Life, a bookstore of so-called bibliotherapy. There, like a doctor offering a prescription for your disease.....a bibliotherapist will prescribe for you a certain story to read.

This is the power and trust that's often found in literary fiction. "

There is healing in storytelling. Perhaps this is why so many of us have taken to blogging, speaking, and telling our stories.

There IS healing in story.

Just another reason why WORDS are so terribly terribly delightful.

***sigh***

- BvH

Rise Up!

I'm currently reading Maya Angelou's life memoir as put to print in her book "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings."  Last night, I was sipping a hot cup of tea and enjoying a few pages before slipping into sleepy slumber. 
The problem with that?  The pages that I was reading were the pages that recount Maya's rape at 8 years old. 
Yeah. 
I don't know about you, but that puts way too much horrible stuff in my mind to even consider sleeping.  The night was late, but I had to read a bit more to try and rid my memory of images that no person should have in their mind.  Ever.  Evil nasty violent stuff.  The stuff of nightmares. 
I read for several more minutes and then prayed that God would ease me into a dreamless sleep.  He did and I am so thankful.
Today, I am eager to read more of Maya Angelou's memoirs.  I don't know much about her but I do know this:  as an innocent, naive child, she was raped.  I also know this:  her story didn't stop there.

Isn't that freakin' amazing?  Her story did NOT stop there. 
Not with violence.  Not with someone stealing her innocence.  Not with a horror straight out of hell.

In an interview with Times-Picayune (2013), Maya said that she believed in God because that's what her grandmother told her to do.  As she grew older, Maya fully absorbed the fact that God loved her and that she was a child of God.  She admitted that this knowledge compelled her to live her life courageously. 
Fortified by the LOVE of God, Maya could rise up and not let any travesty knock her down.
Fortified by the LOVE of God, Maya could bravely and boldly reshape her story into a beautiful thing.
Fortified by the LOVE of God, Maya grew up to write poetry and memoirs, to teach, to lead and to  direct. 
Isn't it amazing how God's love redeems our stories?
This world tries to deliver horrifying endings but God's love reshapes and revives.

I write this tonight to encourage you in your story.

I don't know where you are at, but I do know that there are a lot of unhappy stories unfolding out there.  Stories of sick children and exhausted mothers.  Stories of victims of rape and abuse.  Stories of joy-stealing anxiety.  Stories of genocide, murder in churches, sickness and death. 

And if your story feels like an unhappy one tonight, hear me out:  your story is NOT over yet. 

The Great King of the Universe designed you, made you, and loves you.  He also has great big plans for you.  Plans that will use your unhappy story for great things; connecting you to new people, revealing strengths in you, moving you to a new location, shaping and forming you for a plan and a purpose.   

God's story for you is one with a happy ending if you will allow it.  Lean into Him.  Trust that He's got you wherever you are at in your story.  Know that you are so loved and let that knowledge give you COURAGE to rise up and live this day. 

Your story is not over yet.


- BvH



(** Maya passed away at 86 years old in 2014**)

I'd like to close out by sharing one of Maya's poems:  Still I Rise

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Remember (a Poem by BvH)

REMEMBER


Once upon a time, you were born.
Expelled from womb to world
From warmth to cold
and the first sound from your lips were cries, sighs, screams
and it seemed
you did not deem this place so great.
You felt displaced
out of place
but you could not
go back.
You grew up and the years slid by
You aged and the world waged a battle on you
Scarred you, marred you, marked you
Etched laugh lines along your mouth,
worry lines upon your brow,
stretchlines along your thighs,
scarlines upon your heart;
Plotlines of pain
Sketched by demons that haunt and taunt,
Take you and tear you up inside.
Demons like death, disease, divorce
Addiction,
Poverty, promiscuity, pornography
Mental instability
Suicide
Rape.

This world -
it seems to break, bruise and bleed you dry.
This world -
it will bring you to your knees.

But
There is one:
Our God, who lends a hand, lifts up, leads and lavishes love.
Love that tenderly gathers the broken, bruised, bleeding pieces of a hurt heart and brings them together into a Beautiful New Thing.
Love that took unform and gave it form from before you were born.
Love that knit and fit you together in your mother's womb.
Love that has great big plans for you.
Love that calls you by name.
Love that gives you courage in the face of disease diagnosis to prognosis to treatment.
Love that cradles and comforts you at the graveside.
Love that stays when family and friends leave.
God lavishes His love on you.
Love that is stronger than the insistent need for alcohol and the persistent pursuit of drugs.
Love that is rich when financial status is not.
Love that lasts longer than a casual sexual encounter.
Love that was willing to give His Son to die for you.
Love that sees your pain and shame and the secrets that you keep -
when you weep.
God lavishes His love on you.

And God's love never forsakes, never leaves because it cleaves to you.
God's love rejoices and delights in the sight of you.
God's love counts the hairs on your head,
Knows the words on your tongue,
And the thoughts of your heart,
So, today, whoever you are,
where-ever you are coming from and whatever situation you find yourself in:
Be Assured
Never Unsure
That you are Secure
in God's love for you.

God.  Loves.  You.
Remember that.




(for further study and assurance, see:  Isaiah 41: 10.  Psalm 139: 1-6.  Isaiah 43: 1-3.  Joshua 1: 9.  Jeremiah 29:  11.  Lamentations 3:  22-24.  Jeremiah 31: 3.  Zephaniah 3: 17.  Psalm 34:  18. 
Psalm 27: 14.   ** may God bless you and keep you, where-ever you are at today.  - BvH **

Raising High the Banner of Jesus

Darkness creeps in, steeps in, stalks in and settles all around.  We all know it's trying to take over.  We've seen his advances in the news. 
Darkness languidly stretches to the ends of the earth because he's trying to take us all down.  He's sly, sneaky and snide.  He doesn't care one whit for you or I, he just wants to take everyone down.  He gets us to lie to one another, to criticize, to hate, to spread slander about each other and then, while he snickers to himself, he sits back and watches us tear each other apart.

We seem to do that so well, don't we?

But, what if - instead - we raised high the banner of Jesus?
A banner of love and unity.
A banner that sees past unimportant differences and sees instead an army in need of one another.
Divided we falter, fall down, and fall apart.
But together, together we STAND.

I'm a woman with forthright views on femininity but I don't raise high a banner of Feminism.
I'm a homeschooler whose been home-educating for years now, but I don't raise high a banner of Homeschooling.
I'm a Christian who belongs to a certain group, but I don't raise high a banner of Denomination.

I have time, space, and energy to raise up one banner and I'm gonna raise it high.  A bright, glorious, hope-filled banner that diffuses this world with Light.
I'm raising high the banner of Jesus.









(**"raising high the banner of Jesus" is a phrase adopted from a lecture by Heidi St. John)

NIght Life

I feel like I've heard all the reasons that my children provide for staying up just a little bit longer at night.
I feel like the last twelve years have given ample opportunity for me to hear them all.
All those reasons and all those excuses to stay up for just a few more seconds then minutes then hours then why even bother going to bed at all.  Hey, why don't we just have a slumber party, can you make us popcorn and get us drinks while you are up anyways?

So many reasons to stay up longer......like....

"I'm thirsty and need a drink."
"I'm scared."
"I have to pee."
"Mom, let's have a deep and meaningful discussion about life."
"I just had a nightmare and need to be near you and/ or talking about it."
"Can you scratch my back?  My arms?  Tickle my neck?  Massage my back?"
"Wanna hear a part of my book that I'm reading?  It's just a page and a half."
"I'm starving.  Can I have a snack?  It may involve half of the contents of the fridge."
"Can you find the cat?  I can't sleep unless I am snuggling the cat."
"I need to sort my hockey cards for the eleven-millionth time."
"I'm feeling inspired to rearrange my room.  Is that okay to do even though it's eleven at night?"
"CAN YOU WIPE MY BUM?"
"My little brother keeps burping and I can't sleep."
"I'm too cold."
"I'm too hot."
"What are we doing tomorrow?"


But tonight, my dear friends, tonight my kids pulled out all the stops.
They were inventive like I've never seen inventive before.  It was 9:30 pm.  I had just changed into my pjs and had that "I-need-all-you-ankle-biters-in-bed-because-it's-mommy-alone-time" look going on.  My ankle biters know that look and it usually sends them into a frenzy of excuses to eke out a few more minutes of awake time.
Tonight, they played it cool and calm.

"Mom, want a foot massage?" one of them queried innocently.

Uh.....let me think about that for a millisecond.  YES!  YES I DO!

"How about some wine?  I'll get it for you,"  said the other boy and, after gluing on a fake moustache, he served me my wine like he was a French waiter.

Merci, I murmured lazily.

Then my two big boys applied some lavender-scented lotion to my feet and began massaging.  One to a foot.  It was delightful.  Wonderful.  Relaxing.

I sipped wine and felt all my eye-twitches recede away.

"I can massage your hands, mom, if you want."

Bless you, child, you never have to go to bed again.

A sliver of drool dripped down my chin.

One boy fetched cool cucumber slices and put them on my eyes.  The other massaged the knots out of my back.

I am fully, fully cognizant of the fact that the boys have worked up the cleverest of clever plans to allow them to stay up later, but this was a mutually beneficial situation, people!

Now excuse me while I ooze off the couch and bid you all a good night.

She Shoots!

When it comes to sports, I am all about going out there to have us some fun.
Strap on that sports gear, fill up the ole water bottle with crisp, clean water and get on the field.
Or step onto the ice.
Or walk onto the court.
Or slip into the water.
Get in the game, cheer on your people and have some good clean fun.
High-five-slappin' fun.
We got the G, we got the O, we got the GO-GO-GO kinda fun.
Wide toothy smiles, fists pumpin', belly screamin' fun.
The kind of fun where we all cheer each other on even if the score is 10-1 for the other team.
"Way to go!"
"Nice try!"
"Better luck next time!"

But, tonight, when my daughter broke free from the pack and headed on up the field on a break-away, something primal broke loose deep within me.

I stared slack-jawed at that girl.
Her brown braids streamed back over her shoulders as she zipped up up up and away.
The other kids were still hacking, kicking, and elbowing each other in a condensed pack of wild, ball-thirsty, karate-chopping, kung-fu kicking crazy.
But my daughter.....be still my soul....she broke free from all those twisted limbs.
The soccer ball was at her feet, she tipped it forward and ran.
Her long, gazelle-like legs flitted, fluttered, and fled.
Her black shorts were hiked up high to give those legs some room and they stretched forth in a twiggy blur of speed.

The other kids finally took notice and began to disentangles themselves from one another.
"Ow."
"That's my foot."
"Get off my shoe-lace.....which is undone...again...."
"Hey, where's the ball?"
"I'm thirsty.  When's snack-time?"

Time stood still.
One brown-braided girl flicked the soccer ball ahead and zipped along, her black, cleated feet skimming the grassy ground.
One freckled goalie hunched forward, eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out nervously and he inched forward to face his braided nemesis.
Two coaches leaned forward on tip-toes and craned their feminine necks to see over the tangled team-mates.
Parental conversation tapered off mid-sentence.
And then.....one stick-like leg drew back, muscles bunched and she kicked.  One solid thwump rang clear as her foot thwacked that ball.  It arced through the air in a black and white blur and the goalie's hands clutched at nothing.  He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap as the ball slammed past him into the net.
There was a split milli-second of complete and utter silence and, then, mayhem broke loose.

My daughter spun around, jumped up and down and pumped her arms high in triumph.  Our eyes met and I shrieked out a gut-busting, throat-searing scream: "GOOOOOAAAAAAALLL!"
There were high-fives and big smiles all around.
Kids cheered and parents clapped politely.
My daughter galloped over, we high-fived and, then, I tugged playfully on a braid.
"Way to go!  That was AMAZING!!!" I gushed through a gigantic smile that was nearly splitting my face in two.  My eyes were round with wonder and pride.
My girl just scored her Very First Goal and she did it with finesse, I tell you!
I just can't even get over this moment.
I may even have wept a little.

You know, the game is fun and the cheering is great.  The sport is all about being with the people and having a good time.  A clean time.  A being together and encouraging one another on time.
But there is still something about scoring a goal.
About gaining a point.
About breaking on out of the pack on a breakaway.
There's still something about taking that shot and hearing those words:
"She shoots. She scoooores!"

What a night!